


Any Way Up

by kalijean, SLWalker



Series: Arch to the Sky [67]
Category: due South
Genre: Arch to the Sky, Chicago (1998), M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-26
Updated: 2011-10-02
Packaged: 2017-10-24 01:35:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 28,445
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/257414
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kalijean/pseuds/kalijean, https://archiveofourown.org/users/SLWalker/pseuds/SLWalker
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>July 1998: Ray decides on a spur-of-the-moment road trip, the next weekend after Three States took place. He and Ren find a whole lot more than they bargained for.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

"I'm actually awake before you? I think this oughta be noted down in some record book somewhere."

Ren stood in his doorway, blinking dazedly back at him, and Ray was possessed with the urge to ruffle his hair. Must have been that drowsy, half-conscious look. There was something... Ray wasn't sure what the word for it was. Something endearing about it, maybe. Mister Wears His Boots Everywhere was clearly right out of bed, in shorts and a t-shirt and no boots and with his hair sticking up; purely defenseless and unfiltered. "I--" A few more rapid blinks. "Ray, was there-- I mean, did I miss-- Did something--"

"Yeah, there was. No, you didn't. No, nothin' did." Ray grinned wider. "'Cept, I forgot to tell you about the plan."

"There's a plan?" Ren's eyebrows went up, a sort of hopeless look of confusion.

"Yeah. You, me, car, weekend, Wisconsin." Ray nodded. "I mean, unless you wanna crawl back into bed for a couple more hours."

Ray knew he was wreaking havoc on Renfield's schedule, what with the late nights and the Mountie's constant insistence he be up at dawn every morning, but Ray was at least okay to drive now, so he figured if Ren really was that beat, he could just sleep in the car. But last weekend had been fun, and Ray saw no reason whatsoever not to repeat the experience. It kept him out of the house, and he liked the company, and it beat sitting around all weekend wanting to be hanging out with his partner anyway.

Besides, going back to work several days too early had done nothing for his restlessness, as Welsh outright refused to let him off of desk duty until a doctor properly cleared him to go back out on the road.

Ren was currently still trying to grasp it, but he turned around and left the door open, staggering briefly. Since it was about a half-hour before sunrise, Ray knew that he'd had about five hours of sleep at best. Which seemed to be about the average this week. Ray didn't get any better, but at least he drank coffee.

"So, you wanna? Go hang around the land of cheese, I mean," Ray said, following him in. "S'okay if you don't."

"Cheese is... acceptable." Even Ren looked baffled with himself for that one. He looked off at the floor with that kinda 'why did I just _say_ that?' expression, all eyebrows drawn. "...which is to say: yes, Ray. I'd like that very much."

"Yeah, says the zombie shuffle." Ren was wandering around like he couldn't remember what to do next. Eventually he seemed to settle on dressing and started to pull on a pair of jeans. Ray watched in general amusement; it was pretty rare when he got to see Renfield this utterly casual. "I'll make it up to you. It'll be fun. Maybe I can get you in one of those big block of cheese hats or something."

Bleary eyes stared incredulity at Ray, Ren halfway into his jeans and frozen like that. A weary laugh broke it and Ren dropped his head. "I would sooner wear Constable Fraser's wig under my stetson, Ray."

"Yeah? Nice image. Sometime when I need to win a bet I might take you up on that."

"It was rather to say that neither would ever happen, Ray. Ever."

"Well, auburn's not your color either, pal." Ray was having more fun than should even be legal, considering the hour of morning. He leaned against the wall, arms crossed loosely over his slowly healing ribs. It was better than it had been the first few days, now that the inflammation had gone down some, and the aches and pains left over were tolerably familiar. "But I'd sure pay to see Thatcher's face if you walked in like that."

Ren had finished pulling his jeans on and stared off for a long moment. Doubtless picturing this. And then he laughed, quiet and sleep-rough, heading over to his dresser to pull out a clean t-shirt. "Were it not for my _pride_ , I suppose I could see the potential for amusement." He stripped his shirt off and pulled the clean one over his head, then tucked it in. "As you seem to be rather taken with the image, though, perhaps you should wear it."

It actually took that about ten seconds to sink into Ray's head, while he stared back, and then he laughed. "Hell no. Not a _chance._ I might be a little sparse up top there, but I ain't looking to supplement it."

"True. Auburn's not really your color, any more than mine."

"Oh, okay. I get it. I woke you up, so now you're gonna bust my balls." Ray nodded, working his jaw a little in joking challenge. "Gonna be one of those days, is it?"

A comb had come from somewhere and Ren was taming down that hair. There was a flash of a challenge in return, though it came after a moment's further bafflement. "It will be, if nothing else, interesting."

Ray was struck with how such an innocent sentence could sound both promising and _threatening_.

"Oh, I'm keeping an eye on you, pal. Feel like if I close 'em _I'll_ wake up with a block of cheese hat."

"You may just. The question is, Detective Vecchio..." It wasn't the old formal tone, either. That hair was in perfect order, and Ren was sitting down to lace up his boots, his eyebrow doing... something. "...how will you be wearing it?"

Ray actually boggled for a moment. Just for a moment. Because there were all kinds of ways to take that sentence, and little alarms of 'waitaminute!' went off in his head. But one does not challenge Ray Vecchio and get away with it. It was like waving a red flag -- ha! -- in front of a... no. Ray couldn't even finish that particular bit of mental word-play.

"If I didn't know any better, Renny, I'd say you were either threatening me or flirting with me." He raised his eyebrows. "Which is it?"

There was a flash of that same 'why did I just _say_ that?!' expression; it was like Ren was trying to decide which way to go with no idea how he hit a fork in the road in the first place. A couple of careful laces later, he seemed to land on something. "Perhaps... perhaps some measure of both." That defiant look wavered with something else, less playful, more... huh.

Well.

"Yeah? Here you go, makin' me wanna swoon again." Ray let a smirk cross his face, all smug attitude. "Don't you think you better wine me and dine me, before you plan on putting a block of cheese hat somewhere on my person?"

Yeah, there went most of Ren's bravado; who knew it was possible to look relieved and panicked all at the same time? That was a pretty fine shade of red, too. He laughed nervously, doing up the other boot after the first was tucked under the jeans. "You have a point. One mustn't rush into these things, after all. Everyone knows cheese hats are forever." It was softer, still a joke, but less, uh. Upstaging.

"Knew there was something the priest used to say about premarital cheese."

"It goes well with wine and wafers?"

Damn, Ren _must_ be sleepy. There was that shocked blinking, like he couldn't believe what just came out of his own mouth. Ray was right there along with him, for that matter. That was pure irreverence and blasphemy, which was no big deal to _Ray_ , but hearing it from _Ren_?

He was impressed.

"Wow." Yeah. Definitely impressed. Ray nodded slow, conceding that round gracefully. There wasn't any real way he could scramble off the surprise long enough to come up with a comeback worthy of that. "You win that one."

"I'm uncertain what my prize for _that_ should be, but I shall take it, in any case." Apparently, he saw no innuendo in that. Ren swiped a hand down his face as he stood up, grabbing a couple of things off the dresser to stuff in his pockets. He motioned to the exit, doorman-style. "After you, Ray."

 

 

Ray still had a red Mountie as they climbed into the Riv. It struck him as kinda funny, for more'n a few reasons, none of which he was gonna entertain too deeply right now. But he was determined not to let things get awkward; they'd finally gotten to the point where they were pretty comfortable together, and Ray didn't want to give that up.

"So, I thought we'd go see what this Wind Point Lighthouse place is. It's about two hours away. You hungry?"

"Ah-- not... not as of yet, Ray," Ren replied. "Though if you are-- well, of course you know--" That half-flustered sigh. "No. I'm not hungry yet."

"I can drive awhile, I had some toast with my coffee." Ray turned the key and grinned for the sound of the engine under the Riv's hood. "We can just stop somewhere along the way."

"Yes, Ray."

Yeah. Ray shook his head, chuckling a little bit. He felt a little like they'd flashed back to a month ago. Which shouldn't have been a long time, but it felt like it was. "Are you gonna be wired up this whole drive? 'Cause if you are, there's that whole stuffin' you in the trunk thing I threatened to do last weekend."

"Wired... wired up?" It was Ren's turn to shake his head. "A lighthouse sounds... lovely. No trunk necessary, I assure you. I'm not terribly certain I'd fit, if nothing else."

"You calling into question the size of my fine automobile's trunk?"

There was that stammering starting up, like Ren had actually offended him. Definitely felt like a month ago. Ren seemed to remember himself after a second, though, straining a little laugh. "--ah, no. No, I'm simply... acknowledging the fact that I'm bordering upon freakishly large, and I wouldn't inflict that on your... your 'fine automobile's' hold."

"You've got all of what, two? Three? Inches on me, Ren. If you're freakishly large, we're joining the circus together."

"...the statement was made less to be self-deprecating than it was to be complimentary to your trunk, Ray."

"Well, if you're gonna be all... blast-from-the-last-month on me, I'm gonna stuff you in there whether you fit or not. Got me?"

"Ah... blast-from-last-month?"

"Awkward, fidgeting and looking like I'm gonna bite you." Ray turned the corner and headed in the direction of the highway, shaking his head with a smile. "I mean, _you_ threatened _me_ with premarital cheese, Ren. If I ain't awkward about it, you don't get to be."

"It isn't something I do often, Ray. Or intentionally." There was that blush again. Ray could see it from there, only half-looking. "At all, actually."

"Flies in the face of the evidence, pal."

"--hm. In any case, I'm not _awkward_. Simply... simply..."

"Awkward?"

There was a half-laughed sigh. "...yes, Ray."

"Uh-huh. So knock it off."

"Yes, Ray." Ren fiddled with his hands, tugging on that thumb, apparently forgetting that was kind of _part_ of it.

Ray risked the steering wheel to reach over and give a tug of his own to that thumb.

That got a more genuine smile off the Mountie, and even if it looked shocked and kind of involuntary, Ray was pretty pleased with himself. "So. Lighthouse. And breakfast, and the land of cheese, huh?"

"It would appear so." The guy stopped fidgeting, thankfully. "May I ask... what brought this particular road trip to mind?"

"Last weekend," Ray answered, because it was the truth. The upside being that he was in less pain and could hold it off with plain old ibuprofen now, instead of something with narcotics in it. Sure, it still hurt if he pushed or twisted or anything like that, but he could take driving and walking now, in light amounts. "I had fun, you had fun, we had fun. So, I thought, 'why not this weekend, too?' Plus, I was stuck behind a desk for three days, and I don't wanna sit still anymore."

"Understandable..."

"Right. And last weekend we went kinda south and east, so this weekend, we'll go north. Check out the lake shore. Hang around nature or whatever. _Maybe_ stay the night somewhere, but that's up to you. Sound okay?"

"It sounds..." Ren started, then trailed off, turning a finger in the air.

Yeah, there was that urge to be awkward. Ray could smell it coming at this point. He figured he was in for some stammering about not wanting to be any trouble and _anything that pleases you, Ray_ and maybe something about paying for his own room or something.

Ren cleared his throat, seeming to decide on something. "Like a great deal of fun, Ray. Thank you."

Of course, the actual answer made Ray beam. "You're welcome."

 

 

They'd had a run of fair weather for the past couple of weeks -- rain here or there, but mostly sunny. The air felt and smelled cleaner outside of Chicago, and that left the hum of the tires on the highway and conversation where it could be found. The sun came up on the right, low and yellow through a somewhat hazy day, and Ray kept glancing out between the breaks in trees, past Ren, just to take it all in.

Ray had rarely driven like this before. Before, he would baby his Rivieras for the sake of keeping the mileage down, but now... it just didn't matter as much. He loved this newest Riv; he'd loved all of them. Before, he'd really had no major urge to leave Chicago, unless it was for Florida or some other traditional vacation kinda place. But now, he was willing to not only turn that odometer over, but he was outright _happy_ to go explore Lake Michigan's shore.

There was a certain freedom to it that he hadn't really experienced often in his life. And he needed that feeling. He had enough money to get by -- quite a bonus from his time undercover, in fact, even if a small price for his soul -- and he had a car, and he had Ren, and this was the closest he'd felt to Ray Vecchio in a very long time.

Even if some things had clearly changed. Like his willingness to sit in silence for stretches on the road, just taking in the scenery, comfortable.

Eventually, though, it was his stomach that broke it. "Sounds like breakfast time."

Ren glanced toward Ray's midsection with a certain look of being impressed that involved way too much sentient eyebrow. "...so it does."

"Any preferences, Ren?"

"None especially," he answered, obviously stifling a yawn.

"Really gotta get you drinking coffee, pal."

"That would end badly, Ray."

"Oh? You allergic? Drink it and you turn polka-dotted green and clash with your uniform?"

"No, Ray." Laughing softly, Ren pressed a hand to his own chest, gesturing off with splayed fingers of the other. "Take a moment to picture me with caffeine jitters."

"Oh, come _on_ , you're not that bad..."

For a second, Ren grinned, a little far away; when he wagged an instructional finger in Ray's direction, Ray nearly reached over and pulled on that too. "My detachment was barred from ever providing me with coffee on pain of death. I'm certain that threat was empty, but it was taken reasonably seriously regardless of that. Please trust me when I tell you it was not an experience to be repeated."

"Well, were you drinking it in moderation? 'Cause one cup's not gonna do you in. How much did you drink, anyway?"

Ren gestured, slowly, like he was trying to will the words out of thin air and into existence. Kinda red-faced again. "Ah-- well, I suppose I may have gotten, perhaps, a little _eager_ when it came to picking up the tradition of police work and coffee..."

"So, how much?"

"A little over a pot."

Ray looked over, wide-eyed. "We talkin' a full-sized pot?"

"Yes, Ray."

"Didn't drink it before that?"

"No, Ray."

Ray shuddered. Okay, yeah. Renfield Turnbull after a little over a full pot of coffee probably _would_ require some kind of serious intervention. Caffeine consumption was an art form. Ren had skipped the paint-by-numbers part and went right for a Monet, and it probably ended up in a Jackson Pollock. "Yeah, that's... yeah. Well, if you're ever interested, maybe try _one_ cup in the morning. I think I can handle you if you only drink one. And if you do go off the hook, there's always the trunk."

Ren hugged himself, arms tight around his midsection, and laughed.

 

 

It was a greasy spoon.

At least, it was by Turnbull's standards. It was for Ray and Ray's vocal stomach alone that Turnbull didn't insinuate himself into the kitchen to inspect it. He would choose to trust the health rating score. Less than 100 though it was.

It had a very pretty view, at least, of the morning sun.

Turnbull still opted not to tempt coffee. Perhaps another time. Disturbingly taken as he may have been by the idea of being 'handled' by Ray Vecchio should the need arise, he didn't think his mind state required any kind of stimulant.

Good Lord, he was going very quietly out of his mind.

Even that was incorrect. He'd managed to go _vocally_ out of his mind at the start of the day, too. How on earth he'd managed to _flirt_ with Raymond Vecchio and _admit it_ when Turnbull barely knew what flirting _was_... it was finely crafted insanity, indeed. This after spending an entire week trying not to remember the prior weekend, while still trying to get a grip on his... _problem_ , and failing utterly on both counts. It seemed, when Ray was involved, nothing was written in stone.

And the morning sun suited Ray. It seemed as though everything did.

A whistle broke through the background noise of travelers having breakfast. "Look like you're a thousand miles away, there, Ren. Sure you don't want something to wake you up?"

Turnbull had to put down the urge to grab the hand being waved in front of his face. He crossed his eyes to look at it before it fell. "Yes, Ray. I was simply reflecting on the lovely morning."

"Uh-huh," Ray replied, and it was that jokingly doubtful tone. Though, Turnbull had come to understand that it wasn't entirely joking -- it was also quite an effective method of interrogation. It automatically put the subject of said interrogation on the defensive, and more information would then be revealed as said subject tried to cover for themselves.

Of course, now that he was wise to it, he could... no. He _wished_ he could resist it. At least he could dodge it, even if he couldn't manage silence. "It is a lovely morning, Ray; you, yourself, were reflecting on it earlier."

Ray picked up the coffee mug, taking a sip. He'd opted for waffles, and just looking at the amount of various brands of sugar on them made Turnbull's teeth ache. Ray seemed to have no such issue; he was halfway through them and had yet to fall into a diabetic coma.

"Yeah, I was. But it's kinda hard to reflect on the morning when you're so far away from it." Ray nodded, and speared another piece of his waffle onto his fork, gesturing gracefully with it and sending drips of syrup to land on the plate. "So, you wanna talk about it?"

This was going to turn into another conversation about his own awkwardness, Turnbull could tell. He had to divert that quickly; it could only mean more opportunity for his mouth to run without his mind to regulate it. "There really is little to say. The sunrise was lovely. It suits you. This was... the conclusion of my thought at the time you asked."

"Nicely put together. Good dodge; little obvious, though. I'd give it a 7." Ray popped that bite in his mouth. Chewing halted after a moment, and he swallowed probably too early, something Turnbull hoped would explain the grimace. "Hang on. It suits me?"

"Yes, Ray." Turnbull really had to backpedal faster. "Hm. From an artist's point of view, of course... in the general appreciation of aesthetics; the light, coupled with your state of dress, and perhaps the colors of your car... it suits."

Ray didn't look away, and he had an expression that was a mix between affection and curiosity, an unnerving sharpness and clarity. After a moment, he nodded slowly, then let go of that look to return to his waffles. "So, what got you into art?"

"My parents seemed pleased with it when I showed a certain amount of talent." There was mixed relief for having that gaze off him. Turnbull wondered when it was his family became the safer topic; when it was he became unable to immediately discern a searching subject-change. "I made it a point to pursue it and develop the skill. My efforts are modest."

"Look, pal, I saw that pad sitting around your apartment. Beats my chicken scratch stick figures. Beats most people's best effort, so don't go selling yourself short."

"I-- it really is-- I hadn't intended to leave my pad out." Then again, he'd never intended to be swept off to Wisconsin at half-past the hour before he could remember how to filter his mouth. He'd have to do better than that. "...that is to say, thank you, Ray."

Ray nodded and set down his fork, picking up his coffee again. He tipped it once towards Turnbull, then took a sip before asking, "So, why do you do that? All the time. Someone tries to tell you that you do good at somethin', and then you do this deflecting thing. Unless you're runnin' someone down. Why? You're a good cop. You're a nice guy. You're a pretty good artist. What's with that?"

So much for the safer topic. Apparently, today, no topic was safe. Turnbull could feel that gaze on him when he looked back out of the window; he really could do without the trickle of deja vu. "I-- I merely have realistic views of what I am and am not capable of, Ray."

"Really?" It was very clear, all over again, why Ray Vecchio had the makings of a detective. "Your reality and mine don't necessarily add up, then."

"That is quite possible." Turnbull jammed several meanings into that one muttered sentence. He wanted to shiver. His bagel was suddenly quite fascinating.

It was a moment in coming, but Ray's tone was on the soft side. The fact he could recognize the reassurance and acquiescence in it should have helped matters. In some ways it did.

In others, he just felt ridiculously exposed.

"Yeah."


	2. Chapter 2

"Wow."

The Wind Point Lighthouse wasn't high on any cliffs or anything; in fact, there was a pretty nice beach right in front of it. But it was tall and it was pretty, overlooking the lake in blues and greens under the summer sky. Ray shielded his eyes to look up at it. It was still quiet, though there was a handful of tourists and photographers wandering around.

The ride from the restaurant had been quiet, but it had settled into comfortable quiet again after another fifteen or twenty minutes, and now they were here. The sun was shining, there was a lighthouse and it was hard to believe this was all so close to Chicago, but Ray had never seen it before.

"Kinda makes me wonder what the lighthouses look like on the ocean," he added, after a few moments, just looking around and taking it all in. "I mean, I know there had to be lighthouses near Miami, but..." He just never thought to go. Too busy trying to be a businessman and a beach bum and a newly-wed-soon-to-be-divorced guy, all at once.

"Perhaps I will draw it for you, when I can." Seemed like Ren was pretty taken with the view, too.

"You can draw that from memory?"

"Yes, Ray. Made some measure simpler by a lack of pattern painted on it, admittedly. It's a pity we don't have a camera."

"Could probably pick up a disposable or something. Kinda want to see what that freaky Mountie-memory of yours can do, though."

Ren grinned his way briefly. It was nice. "Then I shall. In any case, as we seem to be making a habit of these, ah... excursions... it's not outwith the possibility that we may find our way to the ocean one day should we discover ourselves in a particularly rebellious mood. Admittedly, even then, I would request leave."

Ray grinned back, then started walking towards the tall, white lighthouse. No tours or anything, though apparently, there was a museum open. "I'd like that. Don't have any vacation time left myself, though, so it'd be a real rebellion. Only way I was even able to get my job back at the 2-7 was 'cause the union went to bat for me, and they counted my foray into Florida as a vacation."

"I would-- That is, given your time undercover, I would imagine you would have..." A pause, then Ren finished, "I would imagine you would have quite a bit of time."

"Nah." Ray smiled, though humorless, glancing over as he walked briefly, before looking back at the lighthouse. "I forfeited a lot when I ran to Florida, Ren. Forfeited a lot more comin' back -- my disability paperwork hadn't even been worked out before I was back askin' for my old job. It was a mess."

"It hardly seems... grateful to an officer who..." Ren seemed to divert what he was about to say. Ray didn't wanna think too long on what that was he was thinking. "Hm. Who was wounded in the line of duty."

"That's just the way it goes." Yeah, Ray was ready to leave that topic on the grass, as he walked around the base of the lighthouse, looking up and up and up at it, then out at the lake. "Bet it's an amazing view up there."

Ren looked like he was taking mental pictures or something. "It's a pity it doesn't seem to be open. I would still be happy to carry you up the stairs."

"I wouldn't actually let you do that, you know."

"Yes, Ray. However, the mental image is amusing. So, for that matter, is the image of falling backwards, bouncing like a pair of wayward snooker balls all the way down in a spiral."

Ray stared for a moment. "...maybe it's amusing for you, Constable Business End of a Bus, but I kinda prize my bones intact. Not that my doctor would agree, much as I see the guy."

"Admittedly, my image is more of the cartoon-malleable variety." He mimed a bounce with one fingertip. "Boing, boing, boing..."

"Oh yeah? When's the anvil come in?"

"There is no anvil in this particular cartoon daydream, Ray. Perhaps a few bowling balls, however. Boing, boing..."

"Now you're just _trying_ to make me laugh." Ray figured it was probably Ren trying to do him a favor, too, considering the subject matter before.

"Yes, Ray. To borrow a phrase: it's nice."

Ray just looked at Ren for a moment. It did make him smile, though he couldn't quite seem to dredge up a laugh. But it was nice to have someone trying to make him laugh, even if he couldn't quite do it. His mood wasn't _ruined_ or anything, just felt kinda dampened. But the effort was nice.

He finally did reach over and ruffle Ren's hair. Just to make a mess of it. Offer some affection to go with his gratitude.

Not all that surprisingly, Ren froze, eyes up like he could see the hand. It was a strange tic; didn't seem to be for effect. Ray sometimes wondered if anyone had ever even _touched_ this guy, for how little he seemed to know how to respond to it. But the reaction made Ray grin, and he pulled his hand back to cross his arms, leaning against a lighthouse for a moment to rest his side and soak in the sunlight. "What, you'd think I was about to drop an anvil or a bowling ball on you or something."

"One might think, indeed." Ren seemed to decide he liked it, anyway, that duty-smile fading back to something more genuine with one soft laugh. There went the thumb-fiddling again. At least it didn't look manic this time.

"Nope, no anvils. I kinda prize your bones intact, too." Ray chuckled, looking back over the water. He still felt kind of restless. This was nice, but there was an itch to see how much further they could go. "So, hey, you wanna go to the museum thing? Then we can go check out Racine some more, or maybe see if we can get further north before lunch."

"At this rate, we may well end up in Canada," Ren mused, gesturing northeast. "Sault Sainte Marie is a mere eight and a half hours away, should we go north and then east."

Ray raised his eyebrows. "You like that idea?"

"I-- It really doesn't matter one way or the other to me, Ray. Given the time, provided we do indeed stop and explore the lake shore, we wouldn't arrive until well after nightfall, and then we would likely get to spend little time exploring there before returning to Chicago. If I had wanted to go back to Canadian soil, I would have suggested crossing from Michigan and taking the 401. However, as you've made your opinions on Toronto clear..."

Ray grinned, shaking his head. The fact he could recognize that subtle tease he was getting was good. "Yeah, well. Sault Sainte Marie, maybe. You're gonna have to wine and dine me a whole lot harder to get me to Toronto, though, pal."

The Mountie was blushing again. "I shall remember that, Ray. Perhaps some time approaching my sister's due date."

\--huh? "Due date? Make her sound like a library book. What, like...?" Ray mimed a round belly with one hand.

"Yes, Ray." Oh, wow. Ren's face at that was something else. Kind of far away. Bright. It was a good look.

"Yeah? How far along? Boy or girl or...?"

"There is rarely a third option, Ray."

Ray sighed in affectionate exasperation. "I meant: does she know?"

The half-grin Ray got back clued him in that he was being teased. "No. She was approximately one month along at the time of her last letter."

"Wow." Ray laughed a little, looking back over the water. "Congratulations, I guess. But hey, seriously, if you wanna borrow the Riv to go back home and I haven't been wined and dined enough, you know it's yours, right?"

Ren gestured, though it wasn't quite awkward. The tone was touched, anyway. "I-- that is, typically I just take the bus, but should I need--"

"Or, you can just say, 'Yes, Ray. I'll take the Riviera,'" Ray interrupted, eyebrows up, grinning. "C'mon, Ren. Who rides Greyhound when their sister's about to have a baby?"

"Yes, Ray. I'll take the Riviera." It came out as a jokingly exasperated sigh back. Ren finally leaned against the lighthouse himself. Ray took it as a lighthearted kind of expression of defeat. "Likewise, if you could bear to see Toronto..."

"You'd take me, too? I dunno if that's something I should be all warm and fuzzy about, or offended by." Ray elbowed over, though gently.

Ren was looking at the ground with that far off grin. "I would suggest the former, if I were registering an opinion on the matter."

"Oh, but you're not, are you?"

"No, Ray."

"Uh-huh. Wouldn't wanna rock the boat by existing or anything." He gave another nudge and was pretty surprised to feel a ghost of one back; awkward, on a delay, but definitely there. "Maybe I'll just be stubborn and go with your suggestion anyway."

"So long as it pleases you, Ray." Ren glanced over again, tugging that thumb. One day, Ray was going to ask why he did that. He knew it had a bunch of meanings, and he was even getting good at reading them; he just wondered where it came from. "Stubbornness would appear to be among your areas of expertise."

"Part of the Vecchio charm. You like it."

"I do indeed, yes, Ray."

"Good. 'Cause you might be the only one who does these days." Ray finally pushed himself up to stand straight again, grinning. "Let's go check out the museum."

 

 

Water was always a strange draw for Turnbull when his mind was out of sorts.

The museum, wherein they learned some about the regional history of the Great Lakes, had offered a temporary sort of reprieve from his own thoughts. It had been interesting, but so soon as they were back in the Riviera, Turnbull found his thoughts running rather wild, and he wasn't all that sure what to do with them.

Ray had begun... touching him.

He'd done it before, but the instances were becoming more common and familiar and it just wasn't something Turnbull understood how to accept. He wasn't usually comfortable being touched. But even clueless for how to respond, he felt no urge to slap it away. There were several very obvious reasons why he should be happy about that, and several more why he should be very panicked indeed. His thoughts seemed irretrievably out of order. So did a number of things.

Water was a nice constant. Always east, for this particular trip. He'd grabbed a disposable camera along the line, in the end. It sat in the back seat. Ray was still driving at that point and Turnbull had yet to gather the urge to use it. He wasn't having the greatest luck with glass at the moment. Reflective surfaces especially. He wasn't so sure he wanted to know what light bounced through that lens would show him; the fact that it would be made some measure more permanent upon exposure added to his hesitance.

The light of the day still suited Ray.

It held possibilities for composition and artistic applications and God, the man's _lines_ and _colors_ and the draw of what Turnbull knew he could do with that camera and that man put together threatened to take hold. It wasn't any manner of untoward thought. It was honest appreciation.

Turnbull shoved it back. Turnbull shoved a lot of things back, though he was starting to fear not as many as he would like.

It seemed there was little ground to be gained by admitting to himself that he was in love with Ray. It didn't make this simpler. It gave him no further clue on how to move forward. Or backward, as preferences would have it. His sister had yet to write back, so he hadn't even that.

Just water to the east. And Ray touching him. Ruffling his _hair_. Dear Lord.

There seemed to be no helping the 'going quietly out of his mind' matter.

Theirs was, for the moment, companionable silence. If he let any of his tangle of thought make it anything else, it would be the trunk for him, and regardless of those out-of-order feelings on the proximity, he didn't want to give it up.

Well, there was companionable silence until Ray reached over into his line of sight and waved that hand in his face again, anyway.

"I think you're already in Canada, with that look."

Half-relieved and half-not for the distraction, Turnbull looked over and blinked. The bleary nature of the blink brought realization of how drowsy he actually was. That doubtless was making this more difficult. "What do you mean, Ray?"

Ray glanced over, then went back to watching the road. "Far away. Maybe kinda sleepy. You wanna crawl into the back and curl up for awhile? Or I could pull over somewhere and we can nap on the hood again."

It was funny how warm that memory felt, looking back over it. Turnbull couldn't quite chew down a grin and instead aimed it out his own window. "I'll admit to being a little drowsy, though I don't think that makes it necessary to _stop_. Unless, of course, you're feeling drowsy, in which case then it might be prudent to take a break."

"I'm still okay, but I really don't mind stopping." Ray had that tone he took; something between chiding and blustery. Turnbull had come to recognize it as a distinctly Vecchio style of fussing over someone, even if he still rather couldn't grasp being fussed over like that. "Drag out a blanket, nap in the sun. I can keep watch for you, y'know."

Which was doubtless true; Ray kept a gun strapped to his ankle, wherever he went. All given, a likely sensible measure.

"As you're the one leading this venture, I'll leave the decision in your quite capable hands."

Turnbull was teasing, and he got about the reply he thought he would: A good-natured scoff. "I swear, you're gonna drive me to lose the rest of my hair. What did they do to you when they gave you that uniform, inject you with some kinda too-polite-for-your-own-good serum? Huh?" It was purely blustery. "One day, Renny. One day, I wanna see you be just a _little bit_ demanding. I wanna hear you say, 'Ray, please pull over the damn car so I can have a nap, as I appear to be having some measure of difficulty in staying in the United States right now.'"

Ray wasn't terribly good at throwing off his Italian-American flavored Chicago accent enough to make it a perfect mimicry, but he clearly was fair enough with wording, and to some degree inflection. Turnbull laughed before he even quite realized he was going to. "In that case, Ray, it's still a request, given that 'please' is included in that statement."

"Yeah, well, you get the point, right?"

"Yes, Ray. You are... being demanding in order to get me to be demanding."

" _I'm_ not being demanding, Ren. Where'd you get demanding off _me_? I'm just telling you what I wanna hear so I don't end up balder. Take it or leave it, pal, if you want my hair on your conscience."

"Far be it from me to deny you what you want to hear, Ray. In any case, you have a talent for getting what you want most indirectly."

"So...?"

"...so?"

"You just said you didn't wanna deny me. So, out with it, preferably _before_ I find a place to park. Make a demand. Any demand. Leave off the please."

"See, Ray, now you _are_ being demanding--"

"Gonna give that dodge a four. Clever trying to get me on the defensive, but the obvious-factor just kills it. Go on. Demand."

Turnbull laid an arm across his chest, hugging himself a bit around a laugh. All right. Some sort of demand. He could do this. It wasn't that difficult. "Very well. I demand that you stop demanding that I demand something, and that's final." He even crossed his arms to punctuate the point, and prepared for the inevitable explosion in 5... 4... 3... 2... 1...

"Rrrgh! You _dog_! That was another dodge, no matter how you phrase it. Not even a two this time!"

Turnbull might have been more concerned, if not for the fact he could hear the laughter in Ray's voice. He looked over, eyebrow up slightly. Ray's expression matched his tone. And he couldn't entirely wipe the smile off his own face, even though he did his best. "I used the word 'demand' three times in one statement. That is to say... you're wrong. It was quite clearly a demand, not a request, and I did not use the word 'please' once."

Ray pulled a hand off of the steering wheel to palm over his face, purely theatrical exasperation. "Hair, Ren. Falling out. My hair is fallin' out. C'mon, just one non-dodging demand." Apparently, Ray decided to switch tactics and looked over, eyebrows up in a decidedly imploring expression. "Please?"

For all his playful resistance, Turnbull felt well and truly _pinned_ by that expression. He huffed out a little half-laugh, resisting the urge to squirm. And to 'please'. It was _hard-wired_. "Ah..." A blank mind was a troubling thing. Everything felt like a dodge; he couldn't make himself demand anything he truly wanted, it seemed.

Perhaps...

Tilting his head to the side, Turnbull leaned over and looked carefully into the rear view mirror. "Look at me."

Ray's clearly baffled look met his eyes in the mirror. Turnbull held the look for a mere instant before dissolving into a more vacant, though still kind, smile.

"Thank you," He offered politely, nodding and breaking the eye contact as if it were the most casual sort of demand to make.

Ray looked back out over the road after a moment. Still quite clearly baffled, though there was something else in his expression as well, something distant and impossible to read. After another long moment, he asked, voice on the quiet side, "So, you wanna stop for a nap before lunch? Or have lunch and then have a nap?"

 

 

They ended up having lunch and then finding one of the many, many little shoreline parks to park at. Nothing quite as stunning as the Indiana Dunes, 'cause that had been pretty amazing, but just one of those places that towns or counties put together. A little play area for kids, a parking lot, an unguarded beach. It wasn't exactly quiet, 'cause there were children running around, but Ray didn't mind. Couldn't live in his house without having children underfoot; not only did Maria have hers, but her kids had friends, and then there were all the other relatives who came over to keep Ma company.

Ren didn't seem to mind, either. So, they dragged out the blanket and sat on the hood of the Riv, overlooking the lake and listened to the shrieks of children playing behind them. Ray had seen more of Lake Michigan between the past two weekends than he had throughout his whole life in Chicago, and it spiked off some weird urge to see the ocean. Not the Miami-style ocean, either, but something rocky and raw, like the pictures of the Pacific up in Oregon and Washington.

Ray was still trying to parse out that demand, but every time his mind went where it seemed to want to go, he tried to think of something else. Because he wasn't so sure he was ready to deal with whatever that was.

"Don't think we'll make Canada today," he said, just for something to talk about. The sun was warm and high in the sky, and it felt pretty good. It wasn't even that humid today.

"A goal for another time, perhaps." Ren didn't sound upset about it, even if he was kind of quiet.

"Yeah. One of those planned trip things." Ray crossed his arms loosely and closed his eyes, head laid back.

"I thought you'd planned this one."

Ray could hear the smile, and he smiled back unbidden. "I did, but it was after I dropped you off last night, so it was kinda spur of the moment. So, I went and grabbed the atlas when I got home and looked at it, and here we are."

"A spur of the moment plan. A delightful sort of oxymoron. Very like you, Ray."

Ray nearly looked over at that; there was a moment before he replied quietly, "Yeah? Like how?"

"You are a small number of coexisting contradictions. At first glance it is very confusing, but once I found myself--" Ren caught himself there, though at what, Ray didn't know. "Hm. Immersed in them, they appear to make sense. That you prize your car to the point of having it painted just so, but apparently think nothing of the pair of us sleeping on top of it. That your sister seems to be a source of significant frustration for you, but the prospect of my having dated her, ah... inspired that particular _look_. That in you, an expression of frustration is often equally an expression of affection. A spur of the moment plan seems akin to organized anarchy or a hermit convention, and yet, on you, it makes perfect sense."

Huh. Ray raised his eyebrows, opening his eyes to look up at the sky. "Didn't know you'd been thinking about it. Never gave it much thought myself."

There was silence for a few breaths. "It was an idle thought."

"Idle."

"Yes, Ray. I'm afraid I can be... exceptionally literal, at times. It is a basic understanding I came to in order to, ah... interpret how to... how to relate, I suppose."

"Then it's not all that idle, huh?"

Ren folded his hands at his chest. Ray could spot the determination not to fidget. "I suppose it isn't."

Ray grinned a little, dryly. Poor Ren looked entirely uncomfortable, in that whole 'I will not allow anyone to see my discomfort' way. The Mountie wasn't the only one gifted with observational skills. Ray closed his eyes again.

"You wanna tug on your thumb. You kinda do that when you're more worked up about personal stuff than professional. You probably had somethin' bad happen at some point 'cause you jump when you're startled; not the kinda little jump people get, either, but almost out of your skin. I'm guessin' you probably haven't had all that many close people in your life, 'cause you don't know what to do with even casual touch. You hate having to take initiative on things or having any kind of authority, and I'm pretty sure that's not something you were born with -- people don't become cops if they can't take charge of things, and you woulda never gotten through the acad... wait, Depot, if you hadn't been able to at some point in your life. You're a whole lot better cop than you like people knowing, but for some reason, they stuck you behind a desk to play fetch for Thatcher. Again, gonna guess somethin' bad happened. You got a real soft side, but you sure as Hell keep it hidden behind that whole duty-thing. You also got a real solid spine, but not much recent practice usin' it. How'm I doin' so far, Ren?" Ray asked, looking over.

Man, the hood of his Riv was pretty sturdy, but Ren looked like he wanted to test that. Those hands went very pointedly to the blanket on the hood, pressing in, looking damn determined not to meet each other for that thumb tug Ray could _smell_ he wanted. It was a look like he wanted to sink into the ground or run into Lake Michigan and swim 'til he hit the other side so he could make a break for Canadian territory.

Ren shifted a little and slowly cracked his neck, pretty obviously holding his breath for a moment or two. "...you're doing... better than I would generally... generally prefer from most people."

"You're not the only one who had to figure out how to relate." Ray raised his eyebrows, smiling a little, and just because Ren wouldn't do it himself, he reached over and gave the near thumb a little tug, teasing, "What, you'd think I just got all personal with you or somethin'."

Ray was getting a desperately uncomfortable sidelong look and silence in return. That look wavered once or twice, Ren's thumb twitching, before he reached over to do the exact same damn thing to Ray. He found himself on the receiving end of an awkward, kind of fumbling tug to his own thumb, grasped all kinds of gentle at the knuckle.

Huh.

"Not the kinda thumb wrestling I'm used to, but hey." Ray wiggled his thumb, jokingly, then pulled his hand free to catch Ren's hand and give it a little squeeze. He didn't wanna go pushing the Mountie into bolting off for the hills. Or Canada. He relaxed again, crossing his arms. "Weren't you supposed to be napping, here?"

Ren stared kind of blankly at his own hand for a long moment, then blinked once or twice and started fidgeting some. Slow, though. Ray figured he was probably confused. "I... I suppose I was, indeed." He looked back out over the lake, then rubbed a hand back over his hair, before fidgeting anew.

"I just make that harder?"

"...yes, Ray." It was an honest, if slightly forced answer.

Ray nodded slow. Okay, maybe they needed to keep talking. Just to get to some kind of... understanding or something here. "Like I said, I had to figure out how to relate, too. I'm not gonna go using it against you, if that's what's got you worried."

"Ah... Thank you. Nor would I... I..."

"So. What's got you ratcheted up?"

No answer. Usually the guy could find some kind of strangled, awkward _something_ to say, but it looked like Ren had nothing. He was clearly trying. Eventually Ren just shut his mouth, and his eyes, too.

That put Ray's eyebrows up. "Ren?"

"I'm uncertain."

There was a long moment where Ray tipped one way, then the other, before finally settling on silence. Just to let things wind back down. He knew that if he had been on the other side of that, he probably woulda been pretty nervous, too -- Ren had listed off light observations, compared to him.

He nodded again, still slow. "All right." And after a moment more, Ray moved over, just close enough to let their shoulders touch. Something reassuring that didn't require any more talking. "All right."

Ren didn't startle, but he still went briefly stiff with surprise. But it was only a moment, and then he relaxed again, at least as much as he had been before.

Ray left it at that.


	3. Chapter 3

Kids came, and kids left, and cars pulled in, and cars left, and Ray upheld his part of things by staying awake and keeping watch. It didn't matter so much that they could probably both nap perfectly safely here, far outside of a city and in a place this family-friendly, but he kinda got instinctively that even if there wasn't a logical need to stand watch, Renfield needed him to. Even though Ray had no doubts that the Mountie could handle himself in a fight, probably even from a dead sleep, let alone the more light dozing he seemed to be doing now. He'd wake when a car pulled up in any of the closer spaces in the parking lot, check, make sure it was safe, and then doze back off again.

So, Ray stood watch and drifted a little, though he didn't let himself drift off to sleep.

That left a lot of time to sit in the relative quiet and think, but Ray made it a point these days not to think too hard. It seemed that any time he did, he ended up getting tangled up in his own skull; he would think about Vegas, and he'd think about home, and he'd think about identity, and he'd think about just how fragile a thing identity actually was. It seemed that when he had found something -- _someone_ \-- to devote his attention and thought to, life became infinitely more bearable.

In that regard, Ray kinda felt selfish. Sure, he purely did like hanging out with Ren just 'cause Ren was fun to be around, a true blue nice guy. But he also liked it 'cause Ren provided a safe distraction from the minefield of his own mind. Someone who didn't constantly wait for him to become the man he once was. Either man he once was. A really sweet guy who was a fascinating mess of facets and quirks and contradictions, some Ray knew from before, and about a thousand more he was discovering. A bit of a mystery. A lot of _nice_.

The issue with that was... Ray was starting to realize that he was in trouble.

He didn't exactly know _what_ kind of trouble. It was just that sense that he had stumbled into something deeper, more complex than he might have thought it was. It was pretty easy, just hanging out and doing casework together. It wasn't even that hard hanging out personally. They'd built a pretty good rapport, in a fairly short amount of time; it was to the point where, when they did work together, they knew what the other would do mostly on instinct.

It was easy, and that was part of the trouble with it.

The last time Ray had something that came easily, though in a different way, was Benny.

Naturally, that lead him off to all kinds of things he didn't want to think about. It was funny; Ray Vecchio never once resented Benton Fraser for going north with Kowalski. He never once resented his best friend for heading off on some adventure. He didn't even resent Kowalski; not really, not once the adrenaline and testosterone wore off and they were side by side. He got the distinct impression that Kowalski had issues with him, but for Ray's part... he just didn't have it in him. If Benny wanted to run off to find the Hand of Whoever...

Resentment would imply anger. He didn't resent it. But Ray felt it, regardless; a certain sense of being abandoned. It wasn't the first time he felt that, when it came to Fraser.

Both times, Ray took a bullet. At least this time, he was the only one.

He couldn't even really dredge up any anger. He couldn't blame Benny.

Florida, by comparison to staying around Chicago, had seemed like a safe bet. Funny how that turned out. Heat, humidity and water, and a beautiful, strong woman who deserved better. He couldn't blame Stella, either.

Now, he was realizing that he was in trouble. That he might be in over his head, even if he couldn't recognize what trouble it was. It was the slow, dawning realization that he would be willing to go the same lengths for Renfield Turnbull that he had for Benton Fraser. That he'd take a bullet for the man; that he'd risk all. That he thought absolutely nothing of spending most of his time with Ren; it felt perfectly natural to be side-by-side. Hell, it felt almost unnatural _not_ to be. It was an entirely different kind of relationship, a wholly different dynamic, but that remained true for both of the Mounties that had taken up different periods of Ray's life, and frankly, that scared Ray a whole lot more than he was prepared for.

And Ray wasn't sure, if he had to be honest with himself, if he even had all that much left to give for it.

And he wasn't sure, even knowing all of that, if he'd be able to walk away from it.

He hadn't seen it coming, until it was already on him. Just something built little by little, until it was under his skin. That realization that you're a part of something, even if you're not all that sure _what_. It might have already been too late to walk away.

So, he sat watch. He wasn't in any hurry to wake Ren up; it had taken awhile for Ren to knock out, and he'd been asleep for a good two hours now. Snoring away, quietly, laying on the Riv; the sunlight was behind them now, so it reflected off his hair and wasn't gonna burn his face. Ray was keeping an eye on that -- the last thing you wanna do is let someone sleep until they become a lobster, if they were gonna.

The guy didn't need any help in the turning-red department, anyway.

More kids came. It was some kind of game of tag kicked up in the parking lot behind them, laughter and the odd shout and somewhere along the line Ren woke up again. Ray wondered if the guy knew he snored; the sound stopped, but Ren didn't open his eyes. The kids chased further away as time went on, but Ren didn't seem to fall out again. Even breathing, perfectly still, but no snoring.

Ray waited a while, just in case Ren was trying to drift back off. Didn't seem to be happening.

 _What are you thinking?_

It was some time before Ray tested Ren's consciousness, asking just above a whisper, "You okay, Ren?"

A few breaths passed. "Yes, Ray," came the sleep-rough response, equally as quiet.

"Wanna go back to sleep?"

"Not really." Ren opened his eyes a crack, shielding them from the light with one hand. "I was simply... enjoying the sun. How long...?"

"Couple of hours or so."

Ren shifted a little in place and glanced at Ray with a drawn expression like he'd lost or forgotten something, before nodding, relaxing again.

Ray frowned. "You sure you're okay?"

That hand was rubbed at Ren's eyes before it was placed back to his chest. "Yes. I-- wasn't aware I'd slept so long."

"That's not all that long," Ray replied, shaking his head. Considering how many late nights he kept the Mountie out, he wasn't gonna even start to grudge the man a couple hours of sleep. "'Specially given how much I run you around. Want some water?"

"I'll get it in a moment."

"Or, I'll get it and you stay put." Ray smiled a little, reaching across himself to rub the backs of his knuckles against the shoulder he was leaned against. "Ain't gonna kill me to do it, and I gotta stretch anyway."

"I-- you don't--" Ren gestured, still a little slow and drowsy. "I can get it."

Ray shook his head with a chuckle, moving, sliding off of the car carefully. "Okay, pal, when we're arguin' about five steps and a bottle of _water_ , we're bein' way too polite again. I gotta demand you be demanding again? Huh?"

"...I suppose you're owed a demand in kind for the one I received."

"Received?" Ray stretched as he said it, probably distorting the word a little, before swinging the Riv's door open to dig out a couple of water bottles. Still talking. "You don't ' _receive_ ' a demand. You just make one, Ren. That's the point of demanding. It wasn't a gift or something. I didn't tie up a demand in a bow and hand it to you to unwrap and give back to me like an ugly sweater at Christmas. I made a demand that you make a demand. Then you demanded I stop demanding you demand and then I demanded you stop demanding... uh. You get it."

Ren had rested his head in one hand behind it, and when Ray came back around the hood of the car, he was grinning sleepily. "No, Ray. I'm afraid I lost track of what you were saying some time into it. I apologize."

Shifting his way back to a perch on the Riv's hood, Ray gave a theatrical sigh and handed over one of the bottles, watching as Ren rested it to his own chest. "And now you're apologizing again. The trunk, pal. The _trunk_."

"Would that be a decidedly forceful demand?" Ren asked, and he had that look of blank, innocent curiosity. Which could be a truth, Ray had found, but also occasionally played up for the sake of teasing. This one stuck out easily.

"Nah, that goes from demand to action, Renny. Get with the program here." Ray cracked open his own bottle of water, taking a sip and then gesturing carefully with it, trying not to smirk. "There's a process. Ask, tell, do."

"Indeed. Am I to assume, then, that once I've mastered the process of telling, you'll teach me the doing part?"

Ray raised an eyebrow for a moment. If he didn't know any better, he'd venture that Ren was teasing and flirting both.

And then the phrasing of that statement rather slammed him in the _forehead_.

It must have taken him a moment too long to reply, because Ren looked over and now that look of blank, innocent curiosity was genuine. "Ray?"

"I... uh, you don't teach people the doing part. I don't think." It was around there that Ray realized he was blushing. Why the Hell was he _blushing_? Maybe referred embarrassment for Ren, who undoubtedly had no clue exactly how _that_ statement could have been taken.

Ray had to wonder what was going on with his head that he took it that way himself.

Ren was looking decidedly baffled; the expression wavered, a look like someone laughing at a joke he was still trying to get. He flattened his hand, rolling that water bottle back and forth over his chest. After a moment, he sat up, regarding Ray for a long moment with that same bemused look before reaching over to give Ray's shoulder another one of those awkward little pats.

Ray couldn't quite help it. He just reached up with his opposite hand, covered Ren's in reassurance, and then laughed. At this point, he kinda had to laugh. It was laugh or freak out, and Ray liked laughter and had done too much freaking out in his life.

"It's okay," he finally said, still laughing some. He shook his head. "Uh, you'd have to wine me and dine me like no tomorrow before we'd go anywhere near teaching the _doing_ part." It was a joking flirt, but mostly it was trying to clue Ren into what he'd said in some non-mortifying way. As much fun as he could have making the Mountie blush, Ray didn't want to do it at the wrong time or in the wrong way.

"...I..." Said Mountie was blinking at him, offering a laugh of his own, if still baffled. "...believe I am now hopelessly lost as to the current nature of this conversation."

Ah, geez. Ray guessed whatever his split-second expression was must've clued Ren in, anyway. Based on the look of _dawning_.

"...oh." Yeah. There it was. More blinking Mountie, this time otherwise frozen.

It was next to impossible to tease a guy who looked like that. It was also next to impossible for Ray to really fathom how much affection a look like that could inspire. He freed his hand and reached up, ruffling Ren's hair again, face as solemn as he could school it, and then pulled away to lean back against the windshield again properly and laugh his head off. "Yeah." Oh God. Ray shook his head, his side starting to protest as he laughed harder. "Yeah."

What else could he say?

Ren looked like he was in about the same position; his mouth was hanging open, moving around words that weren't coming easily. "I-- you--? What-- Oh. _Oh--_ " Ray caught a really... oddly questioning kind of look before Ren dissolved into laughter, too. Hugged around himself with one arm and hiding his face in the other hand.

God. Two guys on top of a vintage car laughing themselves stupid. Life wasn't bad sometimes.

 

 

Why. Why, God, why did Turnbull keep making a fool of himself?

Turnbull drove. Ray napped.

The steering wheel was nicely polished where Turnbull's thumb ticked back and forth. He thought perhaps he would know he'd gotten too at home in the car when the polish became permanent.

When he'd demanded the man look at him he hadn't realized just how deeply Ray would comply. The man was looking. Had been looking. Had been _seeing_ entirely too much, and that was a dangerous combination with the fact that Turnbull couldn't seem to keep his stupid, obliviously _flirtatious_ mouth shut.

Green eyes. Kind hands. A detective's mind that should rightly be at odds with the safe feeling Turnbull got from being watched over. A warm presence and proximity that apparently made him lose all track of time just to sleep beside, and that just wasn't something Turnbull _did_. The brief reordering of his world following that nap had been with more than just the time of day. He could oversleep. He'd just rarely known anything that could take away his concept of time.

Maybe he could just say it. Turnbull felt desperately, painfully exposed, like Ray could glance him over once and page through his being at will. Turnbull wasn't used to being transparent. Not in this way. He'd made something of a point in life to avoid that. At least if he spoke up he'd bypass the humiliation of being read like a newspaper, headline by dangerous headline.

Could he? _I think I love you._

Beautiful. Just perfect. His manic, outlandish fantasy came in _David Cassidy_ lyrics.

Either way, he knew he couldn't. He just had to try and can it. Even if he didn't _want_ to. Even if it seemed as though Ray had backhandedly suggested that enough 'wining and dining' might actually _do_ something, and Turnbull still wanted to bounce his forehead off the horn for having accidentally thrown _that_ bit of innuendo.

It was moments like that he really did wish he'd related better to other children growing up. Or, for that matter, other adults. Perhaps he might be able to recognize a piece of innuendo before it came out of his mouth, rather than after.

He ticked his thumb, glancing to Ray now and again. If Ray was uncomfortable with his newfound telepathic abilities...

No. That wasn't fair. Ray Vecchio really was a detective, and even if lately he'd been quite hard on himself for finding it difficult to slip right back into his own life, the man's mind still worked and observed and Turnbull seriously, deeply wondered why he hadn't _considered_ that before agreeing to accept a ride from him in the first place.

And this half-panicked feeling was getting very, very difficult to live with. He wasn't even entirely sure where he was driving, aside north. By all rights, he should have turned around and gone back to Chicago, because every further mile from Chicago was one further mile they'd have to drive back, and right now, he wasn't so sure he could hold onto his nerve. Half of him was sorely tempted to turn back.

The other half ached at the thought.

It was hard to fathom that last weekend, Turnbull had been perfectly prepared to lock this openness and his own feelings into a box, and now he was actually considering, if briefly, admitting to them. But Ray just... didn't give him any quarter. He'd made a poor attempt to beg off picking Ray up from his family home on Monday evening, and it only took Ray sounding a little surprised, though accepting, and suddenly, Turnbull was agreeing to be there as soon as he could after his shift ended.

Ray never really put any genuine pressure on him to do _anything_ \-- he would show up, he would call, he would ask, he would even badger jokingly, but he never actually demanded anything himself. It was always quite clear that if the protest was genuine, Ray would acquiesce.

Perhaps, if that subject came up again, Turnbull would have to point that out.

Ray never put any pressure on him to do anything, and yet, it was almost impossible to deny the man anything he requested.

Including, right now, driving north and driving the Riviera and trying to stay something like _sane_ , even if he was quite sure he'd left sanity somewhere back in his bedsit this morning.

"Don't think it's gonna run away on you," Ray said, sleepily, eyes barely open. He gestured to the steering wheel.

Ah. Perhaps he had been gripping the wheel a little hard. Turnbull bit down a wince and made a conscious effort not to. "No, Ray. Did you sleep well?" The tone was schooled and polite, a little formal.

"Yeah, not bad. In and out." Ray rubbed over his eyes, yawning.

 _No boot-steps this time; why did you decide to be in?_ "Are you hungry yet?"

"Not yet." And now Ray was sitting up properly, looking over, and he could feel the light scrutiny in the gaze. It was downright _unnerving_ how the man could do that -- could make a gaze feel like a physical force. It was even more unnerving right now. "You okay? Hey, listen... if I embarrassed you back there or something, I'm sorry."

There was no fashion in which Turnbull wanted to acknowledge that statement -- thinking about what he'd said threatened to send him off in that humiliating spiral of thought all over again -- but the idea of Ray taking any kind of blame for it fired off 'fix it' pangs. "I'm fine, Ray." Perhaps a little bit stupid, but that wasn't anything new, so it didn't qualify as not-fine. "You didn't embarrass me, I assure you. Please don't apologize."

It was a strange thing, seeing Ray fidget; he did for a moment before he apparently caught himself and quit, leaning one arm on the window frame, half outside. "Okay. I mean, if I ever do, you'll just swat me and tell me to quit, right?"

" _Ray_ , I would never swat you." Turnbull ticked his thumb at the wheel once or twice more, turning a soft look briefly on Ray before looking back to the road. He definitely... absolutely wanted to fix this, somehow. Anything that left Ray _fidgeting_ had to be something done wrong. "You-- I-- that is to say-- it was my own difficulty that caused embarrassment, nothing you did. I can only... apologize for it, and for somehow making you believe it was your fault."

"Well, some kinda flirty accidental innuendo ain't exactly a _difficulty_ ," Ray said, but the words seemed to relax him some, anyway. "Gee, thanks, Ren. I feel real desirable now."

Oh, Lord. If it weren't for the fact they were on the road and he was driving, Turnbull would have looked over just to stare, rather than glance incredulously. It actually took a moment or two for him to realize that Ray was teasing him again; in the meantime, he tried to find some kind of reply. Nothing whatsoever came out.

"Sure, I get it, I'm not some twenty-something young buck anymore," Ray smirked as he spoke, looking over, "but at least I'm a snazzy dresser, right?"

"You're beautiful."

It took him a moment to truly understand he'd said it aloud, and Turnbull could _feel_ himself being looked into. There was that urge to bounce his head off the horn again. At least if he did it now it wouldn't wake Ray up. He couldn't make himself look over again, in any case; he cleared his throat, explaining very carefully, "...that is to say... much as I mentioned before, from an artist's point of view, lines and color... light and shadow, against the backdrop of the day as well as... as... your car, and of course your manner of dress..."

"Beautiful."

"...yes, Ray." Turnbull was fighting just to keep _breathing_ around the humiliation; speaking was a feat. His mouth. His stupid, apparently independently-thinking _mouth_. "It appears I've... accidentally flirted again."

There was quite a long silence from the passenger's seat, and he could not -- for the life of him, could _not_ \-- look over to see what sort of expression Ray must have been wearing. He had a brief, random, flash of an urge to pull over, leap out of the car and perhaps throw himself into Lake Michigan.

"Huh. Never been called that, before." When the answer finally came, the tone was a little surprised, and touched and maybe a little thoughtful. Turnbull wasn't sure if that was better than anger. "I'm kinda starting to think you aren't accidentally flirting anymore, though."

That old alarm klaxon was going off in Turnbull's head. _Nonononono..._ This was it, wasn't it? The point of no return where everything he was so damn confident he could stuff under the floorboards came seeping up through the cracks. He wouldn't lie. He could just shut up. He _should_ just shut up, except that when he did, Ray seemed to think it was something Ray had done. Everything tangled around the works of that poorly oiled machine that was his mind and jammed it up all over again.

His thumb ticked the steering wheel. Metronome beat dividing the engine noise. One-two, one-two, one-two...

"The flirting is unintentional. That is not to say it is... hollow."

"Give that one maybe a five," Ray answered, and that tone was something between casual and soothing. "So, in plain, simple, non-dodgy English, you're sayin' that yes, you're flirting with me."

"Not intentionally."

"But you _are_ flirting with me."

"Yes, Ray." The words were kind of strangled, despite Turnbull's very best efforts to make them sound as casual as Ray seemed to be managing right about now. "Unintentionally."

"Great," Ray groaned, but it was a kind of laughing-groan. No derision or scorn, though perhaps some measure of frustration. "I got my partner flirting with me, and it ain't hollow, and he can't just admit to it without reminding me how unintentional it is. What, I'm not good enough for the intentional flirting? Huh?"

That made Turnbull flash a wide-eyed look over, his answer utterly bypassing his brain to come tumbling out of his mouth, "Of course you are, Ray, I just--" He cut it off when his mind caught up to his mouth; he snapped it closed, looking back out front. His heart was threatening to thud right out of his chest.

"Think I'd take it bad?" Ray scoffed. "I mean, sure, I'm a straight, Italian, Catholic-raised cop, so I automatically gotta be some kinda asshole."

"I didn't say that."

"Didn't think it?"

"No." That was quite firm. It had never once occurred to Turnbull to think Ray was somehow stereotypically homophobic. "I emphatically did not think that."

"So, what did you think, then?"

How, exactly, his blood could rise was utterly beyond Turnbull. He answered the question with a question, "Are you straight?"

"Yeah."

"Then what, exactly, would be the point in flirting intentionally, as it could not possibly _lead_ anywhere?"

Ray was looking over, and there wasn't any anger in his expression. Just a kind of worried, nervous thoughtfulness, and eventually he replied quietly, "I don't know." And then he looked back out of his own window, falling to something still and silent.

Truthfully, Turnbull had no idea how to respond to that expression; for some reason, it _ached_. It certainly dealt with his temporary little flare of frustration.

After a moment, though, Ray added, equally softly, "I still like you, y'know?"

And Turnbull had no idea how to respond to that, either. It didn't sound like a reassurance. Or a question, despite being framed as one. It sounded a little small, and uncertain, and suddenly, he wasn't quite so sure about anything anymore.

Not even which way was up.


	4. Chapter 4

Turnbull counted himself lucky that they'd found the capacity for peaceful silence in their friendship.

There had been quite a stretch of it through the rest of that ride. And indeed, through dinner. It wasn't peaceful in an internal sense; only in the interpersonal sense. It wasn't awkward. Thoughtful.

That _had_ been a spectacular failure to keep his composure. Turnbull didn't know why he'd ever anticipated better of himself. A vast portion of him was consumed with self-recrimination and the monumental task of repairing what he viewed to be broken. What of him wasn't, was contemplating the 'I still like you'. There had to be... something he was missing. Ray seemed as mentally far into Canada as Turnbull was, so far as he could tell, and he surprised himself by wondering if it was as boring as Ray expected.

The entire matter was beyond Turnbull's control. This was more of a problem than he might've expected.

 _What are you thinking?_

He'd worked his way through dinner, the water in his glass holding no answer no matter how long he stared at it.

Now and again, they'd nudged each other verbally. Not for any kind of answer to the swirl of thought; Turnbull didn't know exactly why. Perhaps simply to remain in contact. A simple _You okay?_ answered with a _Yes, Ray._

The hotel was by the lake. Something still obscenely expensive by his standards, but that thoughtful dampening of conversation had extended even to his ability to sputter, and he'd offered only a quiet laugh of affectionate exasperation with it. It had gotten a soft look out of Ray.

Maybe it was just sheer bloody-mindedness that meant they got a double room. Refusal to give over to whatever this was and let the awkwardness seep in. Perhaps refusal to walk away from each other, too, though where that mutual decision had been made, Turnbull couldn't place.

The walls were a sepia sort of yellow that almost reminded him of his apartment. The beds were absurdly plush by his standards. There was probably a tub, but this time, Turnbull didn't want to know. He still didn't know what to do in a room like this; prudence would have had him standing still again, but he hadn't the mental energy even to fear breaking something.

Light had faded some time before, by the time they got in. Turnbull wanted to clean. Or draw. Perhaps run. It was a testament to something that 'run' wasn't ahead of either of those two things on the list. It was a massive testament to the same unnamed thing that 'talk' was anywhere on that list, far down though it may have been. Even though he wouldn't have the first idea of what to say if he tried.

Ray had the rather peculiar ability to retreat into himself, and Turnbull wondered if it was the result of living undercover, or if it was native -- even his usual gesturing and motion had been stilled, and his expression was unreadable. There was no danger, though; that hint that there was something dark haunting the man. Just silence and stillness. It both suited him and didn't. He sat on the bed with his elbows on his knees, hands clasped loosely between them, head bowed, as though whatever answer he was after was woven into the carpet.

Finally, Ray spoke, and the tone was quiet and a little sad. "This wasn't supposed to go this way."

"I'm sorry," was the automatic reply, and those words felt like a dagger.

"No." Ray's voice went firm. "No, Ren. That ain't what I meant, so don't you go there." He snapped a look over, then went back to looking at the floor, using one hand to rub the other. "I didn't mean that you were wrong, I just meant that... I didn't... you know, I didn't..." He took a slow breath in, but it wasn't quite so composed this time. "This wasn't supposed to matter to you, okay? _I_ wasn't supposed to matter to you. I was supposed to be someone to hang out with, someone you could just... walk away from, whenever you went back to Canada or whatever. Y'know? Someone you could work with, or be around, until it was time to move on, so that when you did it wouldn't be any big deal."

The thumb-tugging was ingrained. It was all right. He could let Ray see it. Turnbull turned that over for a brief while. In a way, it hurt. As he spoke, his gaze rested somewhere in a long-dried brush-stroke of sepia yellow paint. "If it helps, Ray... that is precisely what I'd intended to be for you." He shook his head. "There until such time as you no longer wanted me around."

"Yeah, I coulda guessed that."

He felt as though he had to tread carefully. The fact remained that investing oneself in the mind state of another was inherently dangerous. However, _it wasn't like he cared_ hadn't applied for some time, he'd come to admit. "If it helps more, I would... that is to say, you would _matter_ regardless of whether I would... unintentionally flirt with you or not."

"Yeah." The tone was still quiet. "Guess I didn't expect that to go both ways, so much. I figured I was kinda... I dunno. Imposing on you, some. Selfish, too. It's nice being something kinda good for someone without expecting anything back, y'know? Might be the only thing in my life that I've ever done well. Even if I've screwed that up sometimes, too."

Turnbull looked over at that; a slight tilt to his head. "You've never imposed on me, Ray." He shook his head, giving a brief gesture at it. Words were inadequate, awkward, blunt instruments for a precise task. Nothing seemed to fit his thought. "There are many things you do well. Selfish is not a word I would lend to how you've-- ah-- hm. How you've related to me. This... whatever this is, I give because... I want to."

Ray didn't look up, just shook his head a little himself. He went to say something, then stopped himself, working over the other hand now. Mostly, he seemed weary. Heartsick. It was a look he'd worn a few months ago.

Finally, he tried again. "I don't know if I got it left in me, to do this again. I mean, if you go in thinking that someone's gonna eventually leave, it doesn't hurt as bad when they _do_. If you go in thinkin' that they don't _need_ you, then when it turns out they don't, it doesn't cut your heart out as bad, y'know? I don't know if I've got it left in me, Ren, to love somebody and have them love me back and have it come to an end. It's a whole lot easier to just love and not worry about whether you're gonna lose it, 'cause you're already ready to."

"Yes." Turnbull sighed an unsteady breath. He couldn't begin to understand what this meant. Where it came from. That Ray might be slotting him into the 'somebody' category. Nothing added up, with that idea; his mind retreated to some... quiet place where he could pretend it was someone else they were talking about. Where it would make sense. His hazel-eyed alternate universe. "I know that better... better than you might believe. I don't-- that is to say-- I don't know why. You would want me for those purposes. But please do not think that I would care in this fashion--" _Say the words_. "--that I would love you in any fashion and do so lightly. Or temporarily."

"I didn't want anything from you except your company." Ray dragged in a breath, shoulders slumped, steadfastly not looking up from the floor. "Didn't expect anything. Still don't. I don't expect anyone to put up with me, man, and if you want the dead honest truth, I don't really want you to care. Okay? Since you do, though, I don't know what to do with it. Be flattered? Be scared out of my mind? I don't know."

That prismed emotion in a few ways he didn't really understand. Turnbull slowly turned his thumb in his fingers, the shift of emotion cycling through him at a distance. His words were quiet, with little inflection. "I have little experience in these matters. I don't know, either. If I were registering an opinion--" _Wouldn't want to rock the boat by existing._ "--I would suggest the former. Even though I understand the latter better." He tugged his thumb before picking up one leg to fold to him, foot perched on the bed. He wrapped his arms around it.

"Perhaps some measure of both?" Ray echoed the words back, with a faint little smile. Finally, though, he moved; crawled up the bed he was sitting on, and curled up on his unbruised side. "I know I don't. And if you knew what kinda screwup I was, you'd be takin' it back pretty fast."

"It won't be taken back." It was almost funny how that was the part that scared Turnbull the most. He did nothing in half-measures. Even quite outside the little matter of being in love, the loyalty he'd extended Ray was his. Turnbull knew that. He'd tried and failed to head it off at the pass. "That is always something far more easily said than believed, I know. I'm sure if you could see precisely what a... screwup I am, you'd take back your own, as well. We're well-matched in that assumption."

"Regular pair of lost souls, huh?" Ray dragged a hand down his face.

Turnbull uncurled his leg, shifting to lay down, too. He slid an arm under the pillow, laying on his side. He couldn't feel much. "Is something really lost, if another person knows where to find it?" It probably sounded rhetorical. It was a genuine question.

Ray was quiet for a long time, looking across. Clearly thinking. Turnbull wondered if it was a mystery to the both of them. He felt completely exhausted, and it was hard to think through it; he had no idea how he would feel about this particular conversation in the light of day.

How either of them would.

"Wanna hear something funny?" Ray asked, finally, with a ragged-looking smile and a jagged edge on his voice. He didn't wait for an affirmation before he continued, though, "One of the first things I thought wasn't 'what the Hell's wrong with me, I'm straight', it was 'God, I really love this guy, does that mean it's gonna end bad?'" He closed his eyes, breathing out slowly, if unsteadily. "So, I guess the answer is, I don't know. Do you?"

Turnbull had to place some of those words aside for the moment. They didn't make sense, and neither did the vague sense of hope they inspired.

"I would like to believe so." He waited a beat. He didn't know why the desire struck him, nor the ability to ask, but it was there, and he hadn't the energy left to put it down. "Ray?"

"Yeah, Ren?" It sounded so tired.

"Look at me."

Ray took in a deep, shuddering breath; it was a long moment, but eventually, he did open his eyes, digging his fingers into his pillow like holding on could somehow brace him. It was a shockingly open look from a man who could hide his thoughts so completely; fear and warmth and weariness and a thousand other things besides.

If Turnbull could've bridged the divide across beds with one hand in that moment, he would have. He rested that hand instead on the bed beside himself, reaching, with no true idea of what for. Looking back. His own fear. Love, too, and none of it held back in depth or definition. Many things for which he had no name, with no measure of whether they came through. There was no dissolve to a duty smile this time. He didn't even know how to look away.

How long it was before he remembered to breathe, Turnbull didn't know.

"'Night, Ren," Ray said, and it was the same soft tone he'd used a week ago, in another state, in another room, what felt like a lifetime ago now.

This time, Turnbull recognized it.

 

 

The coffee was good. This surprised Turnbull more than he might have admitted aloud. It was a single, small cup with some cream, and considering how little and how poorly he slept, it sharpened his awareness enough to at least _function_ when both his mind and his body cried to do the exact opposite.

Ray had made it for him, upon quiet request, when he had gone into a cafe to get his own cup of coffee. Turnbull had no particular idea how to take it, leaving it to Ray's discretion, and Ray had brought it back as this. It was a little bitter and a little smooth and rather fragrant and earthy. He'd always liked the smell of coffee, even if he hadn't tempted fate by drinking it after that first disastrous time had ended up with a half-destroyed squad room at his detachment, and by the time he was sent home, he was laying on his bed in a fever, just about certain he would die.

The next day, suffering for that overdose, he rather wished he had.

This time, it simply tasted good and made him feel more alert, and he held the cup in both hands, letting the steam curl past his face as he looked through it. He was in the driver's seat again, and the steam off of the cup was brilliant gold in the early morning sunlight.

Neither of them spoke. They simply sat in a parking lot, drinking coffee. It was a stakeout with no human subject; whatever it was they hunted had no face for which to watch.

Turnbull's mouth curled in a wry little smile.

Ray looked perfectly composed; there was no expression on his face, though his lack of sleep was evident in ways that no amount of composure could hide; it was written in the dark circles under his eyes, and in the faintest tremble of his hand. He wore a mask there was no seeing through. Even his eyes, beautifully vivid and ambient in color with the morning sun, gave no more away than that. Ray's only motion was bringing the cup up to sip his coffee, then lowering it again.

He had not spoken since last night. Turnbull didn't blame him. Aside from a request for the keys and a request for coffee, he had not spoken himself. It felt as though they were on autopilot, caught on some universal drift that they had little control over and no certainty as to their destination.

He felt like doing any number of things and nothing at all: Felt like falling into hysterical laughter, running in abject fear, crying his eyes out, apologizing profusely, putting his fist through something... quite a wide spread. It was almost funny, and then it was almost infuriating. It was not as though any of that would _solve_ anything.

And, in truth, he was rather sick of his own indecision. In the light of day, it looked like a coward's last stand.

Yes, it was all sorts of trouble to invest oneself into someone else's mind state. And since Turnbull was being rather frank with himself right now, it was even more trouble to invest himself in Ray Vecchio's. Finally, being brutally honest, it was outright cruel to continue dancing around it as though he really _could_ just walk away.

 _It wasn't like he cared,_ had been a childish, selfish thought from the start. In the light of day, exhausted on several levels, Turnbull could see it exactly for what it was -- a shameful sort of dodge, absolving him of any possible blame should that man not survive losing giant portions of his life, again and again. If he could just convince himself that he didn't care, he could pretend it didn't hurt to see Ray struggle, dying by degrees of some wound no bandage nor doctor could heal. It was a way to keep himself safe.

And right about now, Turnbull was sick of being safe, too. Ray was right -- he didn't like taking initiative. It had been a long time since he had done so confidently. He was many years removed now from the time when he could go out in his cruiser and know he was, if not always equal to every task, certainly capable of standing up and trying.

It had been a long time, but Ray was right about another thing: He did have a solid spine, and he did know how to use it. He was tired of being safe. It had gotten him precisely _nowhere_ , aside looking at his father's gravestone and realizing just how _lost_ he still was.

He had tried to correct it more recently, but he was doing so like a timid teenager, and God knew what sort of uncertainty that lead to between him and Ray.

That man being allowed to believe that he didn't and shouldn't matter was a crime.

Enough was enough.

"I am in love with you."

Turnbull said it quite clearly, reaching up to adjust the rearview mirror so that he could see Ray's expression. He didn't even bother to be sly about it. No more of this. This was ridiculous; one way or another, he was risking heartbreak. He might as well risk it with his chin up and his boots on, metaphorically speaking.

Ray's perfect composure didn't crack, so much as bleed a little. A faint hitch in his breath. He steadfastly didn't look up meet that gaze in the mirror. There was something besides blankness in eyes reflecting pale green and gold sunlight, though Turnbull could not quite read what. Perhaps fear. Which spoke for both of them, but damned if he would quit now.

"I cannot give you any precise time when I realized this. I suppose that, in a sense, it crept up on me. I can tell you for certain that it was only a few days ago that I had finally managed to make myself speak the words aloud, though I venture I have felt something for you for longer than I have been willing to admit, even to myself." Turnbull kept his eyes on that mirror. He felt wired to _move_ right now, and it wasn't to run away.

Ray finally spoke, in a rush, "I didn't mean--"

"I realize that." Rarely did Turnbull interrupt someone without remorse. "I realize that you would reiterate what you had said last night: That you expected nothing, nor wanted anything of me. I realize you had not anticipated this. However, I will not allow you to continue _blaming_ yourself for it, as though you had somehow seduced me into falling in love with you."

He definitely had Ray's attention now; those eyes finally caught his in the mirror, and that expression was more definably fear now. It _ached_ , fiercely, right in his chest. Then Ray shook his head, a manic little motion, and looked away. "Ren..."

"No, Ray. _Look at me._ " The words were firm, and Ray did look back up, even though he quite clearly had to fight himself to do it. "I am here because I chose to be. I would be a liar if I said that I didn't struggle against the notion for quite some time, but that wasn't because _you_ were somehow unworthy of that loyalty or love."

Turnbull could see the protest start up, and shook his head to cut it off. He didn't think for a moment that Ray would believe those words, but they needed to be said, and he was determined to finish. "That was my own fear, on any number of levels. You are correct; that is, I don't see you as a time-bomb, someone to pity or someone to watch fall apart at the seams. I see you as someone who hurts, who I love, and to paraphrase what you said to me: _I'm not going anywhere._ "

Ray didn't answer, even after silence fell again but for the sound of their breathing; those eyes peering back through the mirror were wide with fear and bordering panic. Turnbull could quite understand: His own intensity at the moment was fueled by something of the same, though from another angle. It was shockingly easy to put himself in Ray's skin right now -- if he had been on the receiving end of that speech, it would have terrified him.

There was panic in those eyes. But there was something else, too; clear and understandable and mirrored right back -- an aching sort of _longing_. It was so horribly, wonderfully easy to understand in that moment exactly what Ray Vecchio was feeling: All of the fear, all of the certainty he couldn't live up to it, all of the knee-jerk panic because it couldn't possibly be true. Grief and sorrow and loss and desperation and guilt. What happened to a man, when his life had been lost to him, wholly or in pieces, again and again, until he stopped believing he was anything worth loving anymore.

And somewhere, under all of that hurt, a painful little wish that it _was_ true, and that someone did.

"I am in love with you," Turnbull repeated, softer. "I'm not going anywhere."

To Ray's credit, he didn't look away. Even though Turnbull could all but literally feel the crackle of tension and fight-or-flight rolling off of the man in waves. He probably wouldn't have blamed Ray right about then, if he had bolted.

Silence expanded; minutes or hours or years.

Perhaps a lifetime.

"I love you, too." The words were soft and rough and somewhat strangled. And then Ray snapped the gaze, looking back out again somewhere else.

Turnbull huffed a sharp breath out and looked away himself. How four words could feel like _that_ \-- terrifying and amazing, a sharp blade of joy and fear, so tangled together that there was no way to tell where one ended and the other began -- he couldn't begin to fathom. He didn't doubt the truth of them, and that was mind-boggling all on its own. It simply didn't _matter_ whether there was any 'in' attached to that love or not, right now. Ray meant it.

 _Breathe._

"Not goin' anywhere," Ray finally affirmed for himself, and his voice sounded sharp even for the quietness of it, like he was right on the verge of a sob.

There could be no real reply to that; they had said everything, Turnbull was certain, that either of them could bear to right now. He winced, no walls left to keep the impact of that voice from slamming into him, and he was rubbing at his chest from the physical ache of it before he even knew he was.

They needed to move. And after a moment, he pried his hand from his own chest to turn the key, starting the Riviera. Turnbull had absolutely no clue where they were going, or for that matter, whether he would still be able to breathe from one minute to the next.

At least now, though, he _knew_ which way was up.


	5. Chapter 5

They were still going north, but Ray didn't even notice.

It had taken all he had to hold to that seat. He would have, in a moment, bolted. Left the Riv, left the man driving it, left everything. No clue where the hell he would or could go, but he woulda bolted. It took all he had not to.

It took all he had to keep _breathing_ , for that matter.

Now, his thoughts were half-scattered moments of sharp clarity amidst long periods where he thought nothing at all, just watching the world go by and concentrating on the rise and fall of his own breath. There were times in his life where he had been reduced to that, to simply holding onto the fact that he was still breathing; times, too, when he had wanted to give even that up. Those times were far more frequent in the past few years than they had been in any time prior.

Ray had spent a lot of time thinking the day before, but after the initial shock and rush it was mostly more calm, because what was he supposed to do with the idea his partner might have a thing for him? Kick Ren to the curb? He didn't exactly know how he _felt_ about it, but he knew he loved the guy regardless -- you don't come to the conclusion you'd give your life for a man unless it _meant_ something, and it wasn't like Ray had never loved another man to that degree.

It struck even him funny that he didn't shy away from the idea 'cause he was straight, either. For that matter, the straight thing barely got a look into his thoughts -- eventually, he kinda concluded that if he was willing to give up his whole identity for the sake of justice, he wasn't unwilling to try to give up something as comparatively insignificant as sexual orientation for the sake of love.

Which was right about the time when his thoughts started falling apart.

Now, they were about as apart as they could get. Moments of sheer panic, and moments of wanting to run, and moments where he just wanted to lose it and scream. And not just for this thing, but for everything. For Vegas, and Stella, and his family, and Benny (and shit, even Kowalski), and for Irene and Louis and his father and everything. Those were the moments he curled his arms around himself and fell back to counting his own breaths in and out.

And Ray didn't let himself think, not for one fucking _minute_ , about those words spoken to him through a mirror.

He couldn't. He couldn't.

He _couldn't_. He couldn't do this again.

He wrapped his arms tighter, wincing. Breathing.

"Ray?"

It was just two steps above a whisper; enough to be heard over the engine and the windows being down. It wasn't a question like a question, but a question like a 'you okay?' and Ray dragged in a couple breaths before he could answer, "S'okay."

He didn't need to look over to know Ren nodded back. Ray had a hard time looking over. He didn't even wanna know what kind of signals that sent, 'cause eye contact wasn't usually a _problem_ for him, but right now, he just couldn't do it more than the occasional glance. And even that felt like he was stealing it.

"I--" A pause, then Ren continued, "I believe-- that is, it may be prudent to stop soon."

That, Ray could get. As bad as he was wired up, he knew just how little sleep they'd both gotten. At least the words gave him something to grab onto that wasn't panic. "Yeah." He tried to think, and came up short an answer. "Where are we?"

"I'm not entirely certain." Ren sounded a little abashed by that. "North of where we were."

"Good an answer as any," Ray replied, and his own voice was still rough and cracked and beat. He cleared his throat. "Pick a spot."

"Yes, Ray."

It took another fair piece of time to find one. They ended up in another of those town parks, though this one was filled with pines, shading the car and them, overlooking more sand and more of Lake Michigan. Europe Bay Town Park, apparently. Ray had no idea where that was, in relation to Chicago. At least this silence was less panicky; Ray managed to keep his thoughts on the immediate, which was making sure they didn't end up dead because his partner faded out on him behind the wheel.

A glance over suggested Ren probably didn't know where they were, either. He really did look absolutely beat, a faint sway in the seat suggesting that it was taking everything he had just to stay conscious, and that he could probably drop his head to the steering wheel and hit oblivion before it even left an imprint.

"C'mon," Ray said, quietly, reaching over to tap the back of his hand against Ren's upper arm. "We can take shifts, if we gotta."

"It seems safe enough." Ren laughed very quietly on the last word of the sentence, something a little rueful. Ray got it. If he had it in him, he'd probably have huffed a laugh, too. Ren shook it off, getting out of the car with a soul-weary sigh.

The blanket was dragged back out. Two lost men laid out on the hood of a mint green Buick Riviera, staring up through the trees.

"If you would like me to watch over while you sleep, Ray, I can."

"Ren, you look like the Sandman got drunk and dumped his bag of sand all on one guy. Relax, okay? Go to sleep." Ray bumped his hand past Ren's shoulder again.

Ren sighed, giving a hesitant return of the gesture before settling his hands at his chest. "You know," he muttered, kind of far away. "I had a friend, once. He drove me very nearly insane. In fact, he was a thorn in the collective sides of my entire detachment. I cared for him anyway, though I've never been able to place quite why. He was a fellow of few words. However, when he felt something truly important, he had a... tone. He said to me once... 'Calm down. Just see what happens.'" Ren actually imitated a faint accent Ray didn't recognize; it was strange, out of his mouth, and Ren was going softer and sleepier with each word. "Mind you, that particular evening ended with a port-a-loo on fire and a number of people in jail or suffering from frost bite or both. Perhaps it's silly to remember those words now. Even so."

The words had gone half-audible, and on another sigh, it looked like Ren was out. Ray watched him for a long moment, trying to sort through how he felt about it all.

The thought came unbidden:

 _That mean this is gonna end in a flaming toilet?_

How the hell he could even manage a grin right now was well beyond Ray, let alone a laugh, but the vague grin at the mental picture and his own postscript thought took him from that, to laughter he had to stuff into his forearm. It was edged a little hysterical, but there was either laughing or freaking out, and Ray had done enough freaking out for now.

Finally it wound back down, and he folded his hands on his chest. At least the laughter had allowed the pressure to lift, and it didn't seem to have woken Ren up.

He had no idea what was going to happen. No idea what to do with this. No idea what the world would look like when they woke up.

No idea, for that matter, if they'd even make it back to Chicago before work tomorrow.

He didn't quite have it in him left to care if they did or not, and still smirking raggedly for the mental image of a burning port-a-potty and a doubtlessly beleaguered Turnbull, Ray finally fell into an exhausted sleep.

 

 

It was well into deep afternoon, colored muted gold through haze and humidity, before Ray woke up again. And that was because there had been a fly buzzing around his head.

God, everything _ached_. Where he got the idea that sleeping on a car was somehow better for his health than sleeping in a big, plush bed was beyond him. Though, admittedly, Ray never had nightmares when he slept on or in the car. In bed, he couldn't escape them. He wasn't even sure why he could sleep in one place safely and not the other.

He stifled a groan and dragged his hand over his face. He was half-starved, everything ached and his chest still felt tight from some measure of anxiety that even sleep hadn't released him from. He could hear the faint shouts of children playing, so they weren't alone in the park anymore, but the voices were distant and they were undisturbed.

Ren was still asleep, though he had curled up on his side at some point. It was a little strange, sleeping this close to another guy, but it wasn't any more strange than sleeping on a car in the first place. There was literally only a foot and a half between them, and their knees were practically touching.

Proximity wasn't anything unnatural to Ray Vecchio, though it had been to Armando Langoustini. There had been so many things he'd had to learn to convincingly fill the Bookman's shoes, and one of those was that the Bookman didn't do casual touch. Didn't like being touched, either. It took an act of will to be able to hug Benny, hug his family, even love Stella. The first two of those he did by forcibly reminding himself; the last, he managed by throwing passion and some measure desperation into it, for all the longer it lasted.

Eventually, though, the mask fell apart. Langoustini's confidence should have given over to Vecchio's confidence, but Vecchio had no confidence left. All he had were broken pieces and all of those were sharp-edged and meant to keep people at a distance...

 _And then there was you._

It was a dangerous spiral, anytime Ray tried to grasp how he felt about Ren declaring his feelings like that. Because Ray was utterly certain that it could go nothing but wrong. He had stepped over the line too many times; had shattered into a thousand pieces. He was sick inside, and he knew it. It was the same reason he couldn't begin to resent or blame Benny for heading north and not coming back, or blame his family for edging around him for the longest time. As much as he hated being looked at like a ticking time-bomb, it was true. But so long as he didn't _matter_ , so long as Renfield kept him at bay, there had been this good thing they had going; no expectations, no potential devastation.

And now...

 _You're in way over your head._

He didn't know which of them he directed that at. Probably both.

Ray didn't let himself spiral this time. He was sore through, and sleep had helped even if he ached for it. He was half-starved and he was laying on a car in _Wisconsin_ next to a guy who loved him, and that was messed up, and that was terrifying, and no amount of panic was going to disarm this. If he couldn't bear to look at it all at once, he could at least look at it in pieces.

He hadn't been kidding when he told Ren that he loved him. Even though it took clawing onto the passenger's seat of the Riv to do so. Not 'cause it wasn't the truth, but because it was. But Ray was sick of lies. No more lies. He wasn't going to lie, not to Renfield. Not even when it woulda maybe been the sane, safer thing to do.

 _Yeah, but that doesn't mean you're_ in _love with the guy._

Ray huffed a little breath out of his nose at himself. No shit, Sherlock.

 _Could you be?_

Ray breathed. Looked at the man sleeping across from him, thoughtfully; Ren was clearly wrung out, ruffled, unfiltered, and still _there_. All kinds of facets, contradictions and quirks, but his steadfast decency and warmth were about as certain as the sun rising every day. Ray knew all of that. Still, Ray looked.

He wondered if that was why Ren had chosen that as a demand, too.

For some reason, that thought made Ray smile.

It had been baffling right at that moment, but now, not so much. Of all the demands the man coulda made -- Hell, Ray would have even probably whined all the way to Toronto -- all he had wanted was for Ray to really look at him, and God, wasn't that the most heart-wrenchingly sweet thing in the universe? To just want to be seen. To want to look back. Nothing more, nothing less.

 _Yeah._ Ray huffed out another soft breath, a little sadly. _Yeah. I really could be._

It seemed kinda pointless to lie to himself about it. There was a very thin line between loving someone enough to die for them, and loving them enough to live for them.

Somewhere along the line, a pair of tired blue eyes opened.

Ray didn't look away even with the pressure in his chest clamping down tight. He still didn't want to do eye contact. He did it anyway. The gaze held for a little while, Ren's face some mix of confusion and fear, maybe shyness. Weariness. This painfully sweet kind of hope, too.

Ren was taking him in. It was an open look; curious, some echo of the night before in the hotel. Something that fired off that urge to bolt all over again. It was a hell of a thing, how Ray felt like he was being honest without saying a damn thing. It kept him like that for the moment.

 _Yep. Way over your head._

Looking like there were about a thousand things he'd rather have said, Ren just whispered, "Hello, Ray."

"Hey."

Ren's mouth worked, a couple of sentences seeming to go abandoned before they started. He shut his eyes again. "I was dreaming about snow."

That was so utterly random. So completely _normal_ a thing to say at the same time as seeming wildly bizarre. "You were dreaming about snow," Ray repeated, still sleep-rough and quiet.

"Yes, Ray." One of Ren's hands came off the car to mime the fall of snow slowly back to the hood.

Ray watched the hand, then looked past it again to Ren's face. "Dunno how you could in the height of summer. Must be a Canadian thing."

"Hm. I'm beginning to suspect your continuous insistence that Canada is nothing but a flat, empty field of snow for three hundred and sixty-five days of the year is in jest." There was a little grin.

Ray was kind of surprised when he chuckled. "You are? Oh, no. But you have no evidence, though."

"No. No evidence. Simply a suspicion."

"Maybe you oughta be the detective."

Ren shook his head a little, with a faint little frown. "No, I don't believe so. I can be quite painfully oblivious on occasion."

"Coulda fooled me," Ray answered, reaching over to steal a thumb tug off of that still hand before he let himself think about it.

"Oh, no." Ren opened his eyes again to eye his own thumb, then flexed his hand once Ray had let go. He looked at Ray again, something not unlike his teasing look, though there was more to it than that. "No, Ray. I don't believe I could have."

Oh. Okay, double meanings. Ray smiled a bit wryly, focusing back on that hand himself just so he could keep himself on one track and not lose himself in the entirely messy tangle that was inside of his own skull. "You'd be pretty surprised how oblivious I am, too, pal. Some things stick. Some don't. Get me?"

"I might." Ren had notched his thumb through two of his fingers, drawing at it. "Perhaps what sticks depends on what's thrown."

"And what're you throwing, Ren?" Ray hadn't meant that to sound so dangerous as it had. He'd been going for some kind of quiet amusement.

Ren snapped his eyes up to Ray again, that expression that might've been innocence if it weren't so deliberate. There was a little bit of that expression from before... _I believe I am now hopelessly lost as to the current nature of this conversation._ He opened his mouth, lingering on the breath of the answer. It didn't come in words.

He reached out and very gently took Ray's thumb for a return tug, staring at the hand like some kind of puzzle. Eyebrows drawn. Ray was starting to wonder if he was gonna get to keep his thumb before Renfield moved, drawing the back of his hand up for a kiss.

Ray found his hand released as quickly as that brushed his skin, and now it was _Ray_ staring at his own hand.

Whoa.

So, uh...

He flexed his fingers out briefly, then rubbed at the back of his neck. His heart was pounding pretty hard, and he probably looked completely stupid, but he couldn't deny that it was a pretty... uh. Serious answer. Ren, on the other hand, managed to pull off an impossible expression that was both bashful and unapologetic.

"Uh... yeah," Ray said, and had to clear his throat before it would come out. Yet again, he was blushing. How the hell was he blushing? _Why_ the hell was he blushing?! Oh, geez. "You, uh... Good answer."

Ren chuckled quietly, and dragged his hand down his face. "I-- well, perhaps-- admittedly, it may have been a slightly _cliché_ answer, but, ah. Thank you."

"Nah." Ray took a deep breath and let it out slow. "Never had anyone do that before. I mean, _I've_ done it before, but no one's ever done it to me. Guess it's that chivalry thing."

Ren's eyebrows went up in a kind of wry, joking expression. "In that case, what would be-- hm. What would be the standard operating procedure, should you swoon?"

"Throw me in the trunk," Ray answered, and he was laughing again. Why was he laughing? God, they were gonna drown and he was doing the equivalent of Nearer My God to Thee on the decks of the Titanic right now. There was no way this could possibly go well. And he was laughing.

That made Ren laugh, too, though still quietly. " _Ray_. I would hardly do such a thing. You would sooner find yourself in the possession of a block of cheese hat."

"Knew I couldn't take my eyes off of you," Ray answered, shaking his head some as he laughed. And then realizing just how _that_ could be taken, the laughter got a whole lot harder. He wrapped his arms around his sides and put his face against the blanket. Ow. God. This was insane. This was insane, dangerous and he was _laughing_ about it.

"I'll remember that." There was no innocence _there_ , even if it was all joking. It set Ren right off into more serious laughter, too. "Oh, _dear_... now _I_ appear to be swooning..." It was in between giggles, and Ray wondered if the laughter might not bounce them right off the Riv.

"Guess we'll have to fight over the trunk. But then, who's driving?"

"Perhaps the giant elephant in the metaphorical room?"

Ray peeked out from the blanket just to stare _really?!_ at Ren, getting a wordless _why not?_ look back before retreating to the blanket to laugh some more. Reply muffled by it: "Sure, pal-- but you're _explaining_ it if we get pulled over."

"'Excuse me, sirs, but this anthropomorphic personification of a great deal of awkwardness doesn't appear to have a license...'"

"--'We clocked him going fifty down a _sidewalk_. The wrong _way_ down the sidewalk'--"

"--'and as we cannot possibly explain this with something approaching _reality_ , we were simply wondering how it was the pair of you managed to fit in that trunk.'"

"Pun intended?" Ray asked, and then he was just gone.

Oh, God. Neither of them could breathe, it seemed. Ray gave up trying to speak any more; his side was aching quite a bit, but the laughter felt good and just the mental imagery in that little impromptu comedy sketch was enough to keep him going. Ren wasn't any better; he finally gave up himself and stuffed his own face in the blanket, curling his arm up over his head.

It was a while before the laughter wound down, and Ray finally pulled his head out of the blanket, wiping at his eyes. "Cut right to the chase, why don't you."

Ren's answer was still muffled by the blanket, a bit breathless from laughter. "You _have_ complimented me repeatedly on the artistry of my take-downs, Ray."

"Yeah." That made Ray grin. "Never really expected to be the one you were chasing and taking down, though."

That got a look up; Ren blinked at him, wide-eyed. There was that look of sweet kinda hope again; Ray winced internally. _Yeah. Could definitely be._

He didn't say that, though. "You, uh..." Ray shook his head a little. "If... okay. I don't..."

He must have been pretty clearly drowning, because after he trailed off, Ren said, "Ray, I don't want anything of you that you don't want to give me."

"It's not..." Jesus, how hard did this have to be? "It's not that, Ren. I'd give you all of it. I just don't... I don't think I got all that much left in me, y'know?" Ray winced a little. That wasn't an easy thing to admit to. Hell, it was easier to admit that he _would_ try to take up a relationship with a guy, than it was to admit just how damn _broken_ he actually was. How strange was that? "I'm... messed up. I know it, too. It's real easy for me to forget when I'm around you, 'cause you're... well, you. But it doesn't change it. Doesn't change that I'm real damaged goods, and I'm not the best guy in the world, and I've done a lot of bad things. Know what I mean?"

"I do. Whatever it is, I love you _anyway_." Ren watched him for a couple of short breaths before continuing, "You may tell me that I cannot possibly fathom what I'm saying, and that I may change my mind, but you would be wrong. It would be foolish to believe..." Ren pressed his lips together a moment, looking off. "...that is to say, Ray. I understand what... undercover work of that nature may entail. In the abstract. I may find myself shocked by it, should you ever tell me. I will not stop loving you."

God. There was that mind-fucking fear again. There was no part of Ray that understood how to _consider_ accepting that. "You're right. I don't think you know what you're saying." He shut his eyes to a grimace, pretty damn sick by now of his gut coiling up. "I think you believe that. But you don't know what I've got. Undercover isn't even the start of it. You just don't know. Saying that doesn't change what I did. I don't ever want that to... bleed into you. I didn't ever want that for you. You're too damn--"

"Innocent?"

The half-defiant interruption was a shocker. Ray blinked away his split-second stare. "--decent, Ren."

Disbelief incarnate was looking back at him with blue eyes. "So are _you_ , Ray."

Geez. Anyone who thought Renfield Turnbull was a push-over oughta be on the other end of that look. Ray breathed out, a little shakily. Going from laughter to panic in under ten minutes, brilliant. "Want the most recent one? I married a good woman out of some kind of desperation to get as far away from Las Vegas as I could, not 'cause I really was in love with her. I was heady on having my name back, and so I latched onto her, screwed protocol and ran away like a kid to the circus to Florida. You know that one, but there's a good starting example, and I wasn't even in Vegas for it. You think I wanna subject you to that kinda crap? How do I know I ain't willing to... to..." He gestured a little. "...date you outta the same desperation? Huh?"

"Perhaps you should allow _me_ to have some say on such things." Ren shook his head. Apparently, he was still exercising that spine that Ray knew he had. "Provided you could overcome your avowed heterosexuality--"

"Yeah, that's about the least of my concerns."

Ren paused a moment, a brief little look like he wanted to grin cutting right across all that intensity. But then, he finished, "--I would certainly be willing to try. This is not something you can simply will or argue away. I tried, myself, for fear of any number of things. However, I believe I have spent enough time with you, and a good deal of time before that worrying for you -- regardless of my own childish attempts to hide from it -- that I am well-prepared to deal with you. Including the parts of you that you somehow think make you ineligible."

God. Why? Why were they negotiating this? Ray palmed down his face in exasperation. "How can you be so damn _sure_?"

"Frankly? I'm not. I don't believe I'm wrong, but should I prove to be... so be it." Ren raised his eyebrows. "Ray, I have had many flaws, but failing to take responsibility for my choices and actions has never been one. I'm here. I'm not going anywhere. If you don't want to... involve yourself with me, then I will gratefully remain your friend. But if it's simply because you believe you're too damaged and you're somehow fooling me into seeing you for something you're not, I'll thank _you_ kindly to _can it_."

Ray stared.

Ren watched him carefully. It was another open gaze; less curious. More sizing up. Searching. Ray was stuck somewhere behind 'can it' uttered in that proper cadence and the _attitude_ that went with it and hadn't caught up to being pinned by that look. A mountain of bluntly-spoken food for thought just got dumped around his ears and--

And then there was kissing.

Ray _had_ seen the split-second shift of that expression to some different kind of determination, but never in a million years did he think the shock of lips on his was the pitch to that windup. How something so gentle could be plenty insistent was beyond him, but for all the thought he had in his head in that second, Ray wasn't running away yet.

 _Perhaps what sticks depends on what's thrown..._

 _Good answer._

It was a calm thought, amidst the many, many other scattered fragments, most of them shock and disbelief. A rather surprising little thrill -- apparently, kissing was a turn-on even when it was a guy doing the kissing. A whole lot of _wait, what?_ He huffed out a shocked little breath through his nose, and that was about the point where Ray realized he'd stopped breathing in the first place.

This must be what it felt like when you stepped off a cliff a few moments before and just _realized_ you did.

There sure wasn't any way to turn around and go back while you were in the middle of the fall.

So, Ray closed his eyes and kissed back, soft and slow and light.

He felt some of Ren's stiff determination fade in what was probably relief. For all the initial insistence of the kiss, Ren didn't push it. Just seemed to share it. A soft and loving curiosity about it that was achingly sweet. There was a moment when Ray realized Ren had entirely forgotten to breathe; _hey, shouldn't you..._

Ren beat him to it. A jerky little breath was drawn through Ren's nose, something a little too desperate to just be nerves for the kiss, and Ray could _feel_ the reluctance in his pull back.

They found themselves breathing almost lip to lip.

 _So..._

 _...so?_

"So," Ray breathed out, barely audible.

"Indeed," came the dazed answer.

"You, uh... kissed me."

"Ah, yes. Ray." Ren was trying to catch his breath, though apparently he was trying to do so as quietly as he humanly could.

Ray didn't dare move right now. He wasn't sure what the heck would happen to them if he did. His brain was still swirling around the _can it_ part, taking a detour into the _wow, he's a pretty good kisser_ department, before looping back to a _wait, what?_ "Good take-down," he added, after a moment, just one step above a whisper.

"You-- That--" The words floated just as quiet. "I was trying--"

"Might wanna quit while you're ahead," Ray answered, amazed he could even tease right now. _Breathe._ Okay. No lightning had struck, they were both still on the car, and his partner just kissed him, and Ray just kissed back and _wait, what?_ "I think we better call off for tomorrow."

"Yes, Ray." Ren leaned his head forward a little, and Ray instinctively leaned into it himself. Forehead to forehead. "That-- that would likely be wise."

"Yeah." Ray took a few more breaths, then finally reached up. It was tentative, for him, but he wrapped a hand around the back of Ren's head lightly, something to steady them both for a moment, rubbing his thumb against the short-cropped, sandy hair under it. He could feel a vague little tremble there. "Okay. Yeah. You okay?"

There was a little half-laugh. "Ah... assuredly yes, Ray. You?"

It took him a moment. _Wait, what?!_ But after trying to chase down a few of his scattered thoughts, Ray gave it up. It was a good kiss. It didn't solve everything that came before it, and it didn't guarantee everything after it. But it was a good kiss.

"Yeah. I am."

Finally, Ray tightened his hand a little, something of a parting reassurance, and then drew back to stagger right off the hood of the car to go and get his phone.

Welcome to skydiving without a parachute, 101.


	6. Chapter 6

Daisies. Hm. Well, they were sweet enough. They spoke to kindness as much as any overture, she supposed; Meg Thatcher had let go of much of her wariness of this particular superior. Thus far, in spite of his reputation, he'd been entirely above-board.

In fact, he'd been entirely... engaging.

Long fingers stroked delicately at a few petals, admiring the arrangement left with her. She pulled a single flower from the vase and brought it to her nose.

Their official business had been concluded within a couple of days; they'd discussed her aptitudes, background, and interests against up and coming opportunities and there were a few for which she'd put her hat in the ring. One even meant a transfer out of the RCMP. The Canadian Security Intelligence Service was an interesting opportunity for advancement. She hoped she could rise to it.

Now... the man was simply enjoying his visit to Chicago. And knowing these little gestures could no longer have anything to do with her transfer, so, Thatcher had to admit, was she.

Which would be why, when she answered the phone, her tone of voice was far softer than usual.

"...hello?" She grinned in spite of herself.

"Good evening, sir. I'm... I'm terribly sorry to bother you..."

Thatcher's sweet smile died in an instant. She stifled a sigh down the phone, slipping the flower back into the vase.

Turnbull. And he sounded damn flustered, to boot. This was going to be a mood-killer, she could feel it.

"Constable. I trust you have a good reason for calling my home?" _And interrupting the flow of a perfectly enjoyable daydream?_

"Ah, yes, sir." It was the kind of flustered that suggested he might giggle like a schoolgirl any moment.

"...and that reason would _be_?"

"Hm. Yes. I suppose that would be-- why I called, of course, how silly--" Turnbull cleared his throat.

Thatcher rolled her eyes, pressing her forehead to the wall. It was the kind of look she'd carefully cultivated to travel down a phone with nary a sound.

"--hm. I simply thought it prudent to inform you as soon as possible that I'll be unable to make it to work tomorrow. You see, I... that is to say... it is a _very_ long story involving Detective Vecchio, cheese, an elephant, a lighthouse-- I suppose that isn't important, however, the denouement is that I require the use of my personal leave--"

"Turnbull, are you _stoned_?"

" _No_ , sir, I would _never_ \--"

"Has someone hit you very hard on the head?"

"...no."

"Are you _sick_?"

There was that giggle. An actual _giggle_ from a grown man. She'd heard that one before; nervous, excited, afraid. _Maybe he has Tracy Jenkins locked in his apartment._ "I... imagine that would depend on one's definition of... of sick."

That had not been the response Thatcher was expecting. She shut her eyes, squeezing her phone a little too tightly. "This is one of those things I'd rather not know, isn't it, Constable?"

"I would venture so, yes, sir."

That time, she sighed freely. "Fine. Only you could spark a bizarre game of twenty-questions to call in sick, Turnbull."

"My apologies, sir."

"Just... feel better, Constable, and for God's sake, if you're contagious, stay away from people."

There was another flustered laugh; it had an odd quality to it. Almost... sarcastic? Thatcher pulled the phone away, staring at it.

She heard the 'yes, sir', tinny and faint, before she returned it to the cradle.

"That man..."

Sighing, she slid another daisy from the vase, spinning it under her nose. Her smile returned at the scent.

 

 

"Yeah, you're contagious, all right."

Turnbull couldn't quite stop _beaming_. Apparently, his expression was actually infectious; Ray spent quite a bit of time looking at him with mildly bemused affection and his own smile. Turnbull tried and failed to chew down a grin before replying, "So long as it isn't fatal, I suppose we shall have to suffer through it."

Ray shook his head with a chuckle, picking up his sandwich to take another bite.

They had run out of land, having been on the Door Peninsula without quite realizing it in their priorly exhausted wanderings. There was a brief debate between them over whether to take the ferry to Washington Island, but in the end, they decided to head back south. At least in some part to find a laundry or some sort of retail clothing store -- Turnbull was willing to push wearing a single set of clothes for two days in a row, but not three.

So, they had settled on Sister Bay. It was quite a charming little village, if a bit tourist-oriented; then again, Turnbull probably could have been dropped head first into _Detroit_ and found something about it charming. He was in quite the giddy mood. For obvious reasons.

Food first, though. He couldn't even summon up an urge to go inspect the kitchen of the carry-out place they found. They sat in the marina's parking lot and had dinner... well, lunch. Breakfast as well. No matter. Whichever meal it was, it was perfectly good.

Right. This really was getting ridiculous. He _was_ acting like a lovesick teenager.

"You gonna be grinning like that all night?" Ray asked, crumbling up the wrapper and reaching over to stuff it into the plastic bag the food had come in. He was grinning himself as he said it; his expressions were often somewhat dazed -- well, that was understandable -- but he seemed in fair spirits despite it. "'Cause that million watt thing you got goin' on might keep us up all night again."

"I'll endeavor to reduce the wattage to five hundred thousand before nightfall," Turnbull answered. Indeed, it was ridiculous, but _he kissed Ray_ and _Ray kissed him back_ , and of course he understood that didn't necessarily mean it would be a repeat experience, but he was entirely content to bask in that single instance. And, of course, he was absolutely certain that he would quite happily _do it again_ , and _as often as possible_...

Oh, dear. A million watts, indeed.

Ray chuckled again, leaning back in the driver's seat. "You're really somethin' else."

"Hm. I've had many people say that before; it is not typically accompanied by a smile."

"I ain't typical." Ray pointed, then rubbed both hands over his face before looking back out at the water again with a grin. "This is insane."

"Very possibly, Ray."

"You _kissed me_." Ray had said that a number of times, as though he were still trying to grasp hold of it and figure out how it changed everything, even though it technically didn't change anything.

"Yes, Ray." His face ached from smiling quite this much, but Turnbull couldn't have canned it if his life depended on it. "It was quite an agreeable experience; I would very much like to repeat it." Which was to say, he had every intention of repeating it, provided Ray allowed it. And as Ray had yet to give him any sort of 'no'...

Ray actually blushed. "I still don't think you know what you're getting into here, pal."

"I still don't think you'll convince me. We're well-matched for the moment in that regard. I suppose, in such cases, I'll simply have to prove it."

Ray dropped his head back against the head rest. He was still smiling, though. "Are you gonna eat so we can find you some clothes, or not?"

"Yes, Ray. I'm admittedly somewhat distracted at the moment."

"No, Ren. Distracted is you somewhere off in Canada like before. This ain't distracted. This is..." Ray gestured vaguely at him. "This is _mooning_. Not the ass-out-the-window kind, either."

Bite halfway to his mouth, Turnbull stared for a moment before breaking into a laugh. "I am most certainly not _mooning_. Either variety."

"You are! You're _mooning_."

"...I am. Perhaps. Maybe. I am. But most certainly _not_ the window variety."

"Another thing I'll save up for if I ever need to win a bet."

"I'm afraid it's much like Constable Fraser's wig or the cheese hat. Which is to say, the Devil will have come curling that day."

"God help us if you ever do all four. Hell of a curling get-up."

There was a terribly crass joke in the works about 'not having the stones' that Turnbull was _sure_ he'd have to blame on Guy for ever planting in his mind, but it died on the laughter, his arm curled around himself. Helpless to it.

Ray looked smugly pleased with himself, head tipped back with a grin.

 

 

Apparently, finding pants long enough to fit a six-foot-three Mountie was harder than it shoulda been. Ray had brought his own clothes, so he didn't have to worry about it, but eventually Ren just had to settle on the longest pair of sweatpants (branded Sister Bay, Wisconsin on the hip) that he could find, and a large white t-shirt. The pants were still a little too short for those long legs, and Ren looked a little goofy in his high browns, but seeing as how they were hanging out in a laundromat...

"You look like you're ready for a pajama party," Ray teased, as he chucked their clothes into the washing machine.

Ren had changed in the bathroom, and looked decidedly sheepish, scrubbing a hand back through his hair with a little grin. "I must admit to feeling mildly silly."

"Nah. It's cute." It was, too; Ray didn't have to search for that compliment. Mismatched clothes and all.

Ren had been outright _glowing_ from just about right after he hung up with Thatcher, all the way up until... well, he was still glowing, if a little sheepishly. Ray had seen Ren laugh, smile, even be content in short little periods of time, but it was the first time he'd ever seen the man glow quite like that, and it was an _addicting_ look. All bright energy and joy. It was impossible not to feel it, like laying out in the sunlight.

It was at odds with the spikes of panic he occasionally had, and the dazed disbelief of what had just happened a few hours prior, but there was no denying that it was _nice_.

"Ah... thank you." Ren gestured to the machine. "I would have been happy to handle that, Ray."

"What, you think I can't handle laundry?" Ray replied, straight-faced. "Simple stuff -- throw the clothes in, throw some soap in, hit start, right?"

"Yes, Ray." Ren was still looking like he might bounce right through the ceiling. Not the kind of nervous fidgety, either, but like he had way too much energy and no where to put it. Ray was getting to know a couple new meanings of a thumb-tug, too. "That is to say-- no, Ray. Of course you can handle laundry. I'm simply--"

"Way too nice for your own good?"

"No."

"Bouncing off the walls?"

"...that would be both damaging to the walls and myself, as well as physically unlikely..."

Ray reached out and tugged that thumb again, and got rewarded with that beaming smile. How the heck could one guy be that happy and sweet? It was almost impossible to fathom, but God, Ren was good at making Ray want to melt to the floor. He had been for awhile, actually -- Ray genuinely loved making the man smile. But now, it was like that times a thousand.

Ray kept that hand, gracefully letting go of Ren's thumb just to capture it and lace their fingers together. Which got a whole other look -- baffled, surprised, pleased, touched, all at once -- and it made Ray smile again. "Well, you look like you wanna, anyway."

"Ah-- I may-- well, it couldn't be the _coffee_ \--" Ren was looking at their hands, still a bit wide-eyed, before he finally settled against the machine next to Ray, fairly close. Enough for their shoulders to touch. "I suppose it must be this undefinable illness."

"Oh, it's definable. It's called insanity." Ray nodded, still smiling. _Wait, what?_ "You were still callin' me _Detective_ a little over a week ago."

Ren's hand tightened briefly, a jerky little motion, though no where near hard enough to be painful. Probably for having that little thing put into some kind of perspective. "I was, yes. It seems like quite a long time ago, now."

"Yeah, it does." It had only been a week, actually, since they'd wound up the last little road trip they'd taken. And yeah. It did feel like a long time ago. Whatever course they were on, whatever cliff they'd just jumped off of, there was some real momentum now.

Ray squeezed back, gentle pressure, then just rubbed his thumb light against Ren's. At least, they apparently had leaped off together. "You know you can still walk, right? I mean, if that's... you ain't obligated or anything."

That hand-squeeze was more firm and serious, like Ren thought Ray might escape if given the chance. "I wouldn't."

Ray nodded, looking over for a moment. No lust or anything. Though, it was quite a shock to realize that yeah, he probably _could_ lust after Ren. Any human being who responded like that, who was so damn _wondering_ about something as simple as a kiss? That was a real, serious kind of turn-on. Ray figured he could learn to get physical with a guy, just to be able to taste that again.

Which was yet another thing to boggle over.

Still. Other things first. "If this thing ever becomes something bad, I don't just want you to, I expect it. Hear me?"

"Ray, if this ever becomes something bad, we... we will work to create something good again." Ren shook his head, giving a glance to their twined hands. He narrowed his eyebrows, studying it. "If I should... if there should come a point when it's... irreparable, I will tell you. And you must tell me. Please." The last word was quieter. Edged with something, and sealed with a squeeze.

"I would." What the hell? It was a very strange world where Ray found himself negotiating up front the terms of a relationship -- _wait, what?_ \-- before it had even been officially declared a relationship.

Then again, it was a really strange world when he was hanging out in Wisconsin, hand-in-hand with a _guy_ and didn't feel peculiar for the gesture. It kinda made Ray wonder about a lot of things.

"Then, I don't believe that we have much to worry about." It was said after a thoughtful moment; Ren looked off, eyes narrowed, then shook his head to whatever he was off thinking about. "I should say, not much to worry about between us."

Yeah, there was that whole thing. Society. Work. His family. Maybe Ren's family, depending. About fifty million other things like that. Ray didn't doubt for half a second that life became a whole lot harder in some ways the moment they kissed. 'Cause it did. And he knew it.

 _Fuck it,_ he thought. Life had been hard for a long time. Ray was terrified out of his mind by this thing they had going on, but none of that was because it was a bad thing in and of itself. There was literally no way to look at Ren, and see that bright sincerity, and find a single thing wrong with loving the man, in whatever fashion -- he was genuinely worthy of it.

Ray already knew he wasn't going to apologize for it. He didn't love in half-measures, either.

"Guess we'll deal with that stuff as it comes at us," he finally said, breathing off another spike of anxiety.

"Indeed." Ren tipped his head up a little, that expression of defiance. "I tend towards being rather private about my personal life, so it may be less of an issue for that."

Ray wondered if the defiance was against him, or against the general establishment. The idea of carrying on a love affair quietly was as foreign to Ray Vecchio as anything could be; he had a whole lot of flaws, but he never let himself be ashamed of loving someone.

But there was a big difference between carrying on a relationship with a woman and carrying on one with another man, and he couldn't very well assume that he knew anything about doing it himself. "You, uh... have trouble? Get outed?"

"No." The answer was clipped, though the way Ren leaned in against Ray a little more showed it wasn't at him. "There was, however, another man in my troop at Depot who was. He wasn't sent home officially, but the hazing started quickly and mercilessly. There are any number of ways to destroy a person's morale, and it was a concentrated attack -- the RCMP has come some measurable distance in its level of tolerance, but not nearly so far as it should." He paused a moment, clearly debating with himself, before continuing, "I spoke on his behalf. It wasn't enough, and he dropped out quickly."

Ray winced, though more internally. That sounded a whole lot more in line with the realities Ray had seen at work than the idealized version of the RCMP that Benny had always extolled, despite Gerrard. "And they turned it on you?"

The answer was a moment in coming, but when it did, it was composed. "Yes. Not quite to the same severity, but once the rumor had taken root that he and I were involved -- we weren't -- I found myself quite on the outside of my troop, and there was very little to be done for it aside refuse to quit."

Ray nodded. He didn't figure pushing it was going to do anything for it; he didn't need to know the gory details if they weren't offered. Ren jumping half out of his skin when he was startled answered where the words wouldn't.

"I can try to keep it on the down-low."

The words seemed to snap Renfield out of whatever place he'd gone in his head to relay that piece of information, and he blinked a couple of times. The cool look dropped, and then he looked down at their hands, fingers still laced together, and a smile crept up again. "I... shall leave it to your judgment, Ray."

Considering they were holding hands and leaning against one another in a public laundromat, Ray thought that might not have been wise if privacy was going to be an issue. Then he had to realize -- for the five hundred and thirty-seventh time since being kissed -- that this was actually real, they really were talking a relationship here, he really did get kissed by Ren, he really was _okay with that part_ and... _wait, what?_

Ray didn't let go of that hand.

"You really sure about this?"

"Yes, Ray." Ren's tone was somewhat amused reassurance. He dropped his head and grinned. "I-- there are quite a number of things I'm not sure about, but my willingness to try isn't one of them. Are you?"

"No." It was the honest answer. Ray knew. Ray knew he was messed up, and he knew he was burned out, and he knew there was gonna have to come a time in the very near future where he had to tell this man exactly what kind of a monster he'd been while he was undercover, and for that matter, the many ways he'd screwed up even before that. He didn't think Ren was lying when he said he would stay regardless, but Ray was pretty damn sure that just because Ren believed that now, it didn't mean he would later. Ray wouldn't be able to blame him, either. Wouldn't even want to. "Not 'cause of this--" he added, squeezing that hand again to punctuate. "Just... y'know?"

Ren turned enough to rest his forehead to the top of Ray's shoulder, all without relinquishing his hand. "I understand, if nothing else." A pause. "I'm not going anywhere."

Ray turned his head and kissed the top of Ren's head before he even had a split-second to think about it. Reassurance. The level of trust in that one little action was about enough to kill him; some ache in his chest, impossibly warm. It made him feel, all at once, utterly helpless and fiercely protective and...

And in that moment, Ray wanted nothing more in the universe than to _believe_ that.

He breathed a shaky kind of breath out into that hair, and held onto that moment for all he was worth.

 

 

Maybe one of the most awkward things in the world was trying to figure out what kind of room to rent.

It wasn't to say that Ray had any grand ideas about seducing Ren in Wisconsin. 'Cause he didn't. Just because he'd concluded he'd be willing to _try_ didn't mean he was ready to take that kinda leap just yet. They just kissed for the first time, and while Ray was willing to jump into bed with someone on the first date, the more serious he felt about a person, the more patient he tried to be.

Tried being the operative word.

Didn't always _succeed_ \-- Angie and he had only made it to the third date before they were in her apartment, pulling and gripping and stripping and making love -- but he usually _tried_. Sometimes, his impulse control wasn't so good.

Even sans seduction, though, there was something kinda awkward about figuring out if you'd go for a single or a double, 'cause they were clearly more than friends now. Even if Ray still had a _wait, what?_ looping through his head.

Ren hadn't had any input immediately, aside to blush. Red. Dress uniform kinda red.

"Didn't turn that red when you kissed me," Ray had muttered, jokingly.

"I-- a-- you mean--"

"Single or double?"

Ren had fidgeted, looking off into nothing for a long moment, wide-eyed. Total lockup.

Ray was kind of amused by it. He jerked his chin up, teasing, "Okay, and now that your mind's in the gutter--"

"--it is _not_ \--!"

"--I just meant sleeping arrangements. I can sleep without getting frisky. Can you?"

Ren had managed to snap his mouth shut. Still that entirely lit-up red, but then there was that sharp little challenging look in return and he raised his own chin a fraction. "Yes, Ray. I do possess quite a bit of self-control."

That was more like it. "Yeah?" Ray nodded, slowly. "Makes one of us. But I think I can manage this time."

Ren half-groaned, apparently to himself, burying his face in his hands and shaking his head. He was laughing, though. Then he dropped his hands and looked Ray in the eye again. "So long as you _think_ you can--" He stumbled briefly, but then finally concluded, "--a single would be fine."

"Okay." Ray had nodded again, pressing his lips together firmly in the best solemn look he could manage. "Single it is."

Which meant that they now had a single room, with a really big bed, and the sheer surreality of the entire _day_ settled in right about then. It was a nice room -- one of the many nice rooms they'd stayed in so far -- and it overlooked Sturgeon Bay, right on the harbor. Even had a patio. Nice bathroom. Cable television.

Ray hadn't felt this nervous about going to bed with someone since Irene Zuko.

"So..."

Ren tilted his head to the side, like he was listening for something. A little red in the face, still. That was okay, Ray was no better. "Did you hear that?"

"Uh... hear what?" Ray asked, eyebrows drawn.

"I believe I've heard the footfalls of the _Loxodonta africana_..."

Ray's eyebrow went way up. "The what?"

Ren looked back at him, biting his lip through a grin before replying, "African elephant."

"Oh, God. Not that again." Ray laughed, and yeah, it was kind of a relief. After a moment, he just crawled up onto the bed, shoving the pillows back against the headboard and leaning against them, grabbing the remote for the television off of the nightstand. "Maybe there's some kinda PBS documentary about elephants on..."

"Better on the television than in the driver's seat, I suppose." Looked like Ren was holding on to that gag for all it was worth. Along with unlacing his boots slower than even usual, kneeling on the floor. "'A thousand apologies, officer. You see, this particular species of Awkward Elephant is colorblind, I'm afraid there was no way he could've known that was a red light...'"

"Convenient. Means the damn thing can't tell when we're blushing, either." Ray was flicking channels, not really paying attention.

"Small mercies." The boots were lined carefully up by the bed, and Ren parked himself lined to the edge of the bed just as carefully. "Ren?"

"Yes, Ray?"

"I'm gonna have to make an awful pun about a trunk if you go all awkward again."

A beat passed. "Noted." Ren huffed a little laugh, visibly relaxing some, though still nothing like lazy.

"Uh-huh." Ray smiled and flicked a look at Ren, though he still faced the TV. Flipping through channels. Who the Hell screened Jerry Springer at this hour? The sudden image of Frannie throwing a chair at him landed on him.

Oh, God, he didn't even want to _think_ about that yet. Click, click...

"It funny that we sleep closer on the car than we are here?" he asked, after five more channels. Oh, hey. Godzilla. Ray watched without paying attention for a moment. He could _feel_ the look he was getting. He finally looked over and confirmed it. Yep, baffled Mountie. Ray sighed, affectionate exasperation, "So, how do you feel about being held?"

Ren blinked, and there was quite a cascade of emotion on that face. Ray couldn't even quite read them all. Surprise. Kinda hopeful. Uncertainty again. "I... well, it's been quite _rare_..."

That was about all Ray needed to know. He snuggled down on the bed some, putting his arm out, patting at his shoulder. "Want a shoulder? Just watch the ribs."

"I wouldn't want... that is, given your bruises..."

Ray eyed Ren for a long moment. How the same man could quite so boldly kiss him and now look abjectly nervous over the process of _cuddling_ was both strange and utterly _Renfield_ , all at once. "I want, though. Okay? I mean, I never held a guy before, but I want to." Which was entirely true, and Ray realized with a little jolt that it wasn't the first time he'd wanted to do that with this particular guy. Though, before it had been more vague and undefined as a feeling.

Ren stared at him before nodding slowly. It was the most tentative move; Ren shifting over to settle his head on Ray's shoulder. Slow, like he might break something in the space of time it took to move. Gave the ribs a wide berth, too, which was a feat for the position.

Ray curled that arm around Ren loosely and looked down at him. The Mountie was warm. Not as weird as Ray would've thought a couple of days ago, holding a guy. "Not so bad, huh?"

"So long as--"

"Hey, didn't I say I wanted?"

"Yes, Ray. I was going to say... so long as it's not painful." Blue eyes finally opened again, and Ren gave him a look of half-gratitude. The other half could've been concern or just more of that strange inability the guy seemed to have to understand how to be touched.

Ray gave a light pet to the side of Ren's head. "No. It's good. We're good."

There was an unwind of tension in Ren at that Ray could just _feel_. Subtle. Not subtle. The kind of thing that screams out at you once you know the guy, but anyone else wouldn't get. Ren laughed; it was the kinda sound that suggested a moment of just pure damn _happy_ , and if that wasn't the sweetest thing. "Yes," was the only reply to mark it.

"Yeah," Ray reaffirmed, petting into Ren's hair, grinning. Felt a lot different than a woman's; soft, but shorter, and his fingers didn't feel like they'd catch in a knot or create one. Kinda nice. He gave a little nudge with his other arm, and after a moment, Ren finally got the hint and cuddled in a some closer. Still clearly being mindful. "Couldn't find you an elephant, but there's a real bad claymation monster."

Ren didn't seem to be paying any attention to the television. He moved his head just enough to glance, then went right back to where he was before. "I believe it's a man wearing a suit..."

Ray looked back at the television. He hadn't actually been paying attention, either. "Huh. Guess it is."

"Mm." An affirmative sound. Ren looked happily dazed. Not quite drowsy, just kind of content, maybe mildly giddy still.

"Still think this is insane," Ray said, grinning, before he closed his eyes. Still petting, though. It was really pretty soothing to do, actually. "What are we gonna do when we get back to Chicago, you think?"

"This."

Ray chuckled, though he didn't let it build to a real laugh. Well. That was succinct, even if he had meant something a little broader and bigger than cuddling. "Good an answer as any, I guess."

And hey, it was.

 

 

There was a significantly notable difference between trying to sleep shoulder-to-shoulder with someone, versus right up against them.

Ray was warm.

Ray was warm, and Ray held him, and Ray had fallen asleep still holding him...

Turnbull was having some time of it, trying to organize a vast amount of new information into the scattered filing system of his mind. It was, however, something he was entirely and wholly grateful for. Even if it made sleeping rather difficult. It was hard to fall asleep when he was so busy taking in every minute detail about the man he was laying against; the pattern of his breathing, soft and slow in sleep, and his scent up close, and the way his fingers twitched occasionally, still buried in Renfield's hair.

That had been positively _blissful_ \-- was still positively blissful -- which was yet another thing to try to slot into the filing cabinet of his mind.

Ray was warm, and Ray held him, and Ray had fallen asleep still holding him, and Ray had fallen asleep petting him, and that was bliss...

Turnbull thought that he might never quite look at Sundays the same way again, because all of this had happened in a _single day_ , and it wasn't even twenty-four hours ago when they were laying in silence with quite a gap between them, all coiled anxiety wrapped around exhaustion and overloaded with an unhealthy dose of fear.

He had no delusions that this somehow _solved_ everything. If today had decreased the distance between them to next to nothing, it had also driven home just how many of the same problems they shared. Even now, Turnbull could feel himself wanting to tangle up in a mess of self-deprecation and doubt, and he was certain that even now, Ray was still entirely apt to do the same. He knew that the struggle was not going to end with a kiss, or with being held.

It was strange how much enlightenment could be found in a mirror.

Self-enlightenment had not been among his strengths. He would spend hours reading, hours perusing information, hours trying to define himself from text books or articles or essays, but none of it ever offered him whatever shining answer there was as to why, exactly, he even existed. It made no _sense_. Nothing did, when he could look at himself. Definition was something he'd tried to find in any number of ways; through his uniform, through his role-models, through books, through cooking, through cleaning...

For that matter, though it was tempered some by his own revelations earlier in the year, through Ray.

It didn't work.

Ray steadfastly refused to demand anything of him; how do you define yourself off of someone who insists you simply be yourself?

Ray demanded nothing. He was simply, complexly _Ray_ \-- measures of grace and measures of awkwardness; measures of fear and measures of longing; a thousand contradictions wrapped in one man, who simply had no proper definition. He was brash and soft and brave and scared and he was the most openly guarded man Turnbull had ever met.

And without ever likely realizing it, he was a mirror and in simply being Ray, he reflected back the truth; in simply being Ray, the truth was reflected back to him.

There was no delusion that this solved everything. No pretense that the lack of distance between them in both a literal and emotional sense would somehow make everything make sense. There was no quick fix to the things that haunted either of them and both of them, and there was absolutely no way to pretend that this would all come simply. It couldn't. There were going to be times when they both wanted to run in opposite directions, and times when it seemed there was no way up, and times when the mirror reflected too much brutal truth back to even look at directly.

And there would be times like this, too; warmth and quiet and late night philosophy where, in the hours before dawn, everything was all right.

It was insane and it was beautiful; it was fear and bliss and hope and confusion and it was going to be one of the hardest and easiest things in the universe. It was going to be mirrors and puzzles and elephants and lighthouses and a Buick Riviera.

Renfield took a slow breath and rested his hand light over Ray's heart, closing his eyes again.

They had no definitions, no simple answers, but they had each other.

It was a good start.


	7. Chapter 7

The drive back toward Chicago had an air of the unknown to it.

Waking up was simple. Getting breakfast was simple. Squabbling good-naturedly about who was driving was simple. It was as though, when the walls were removed, they fell into a natural sort of rhythm and balance. When one fell back, the other stepped in fluidly. A dance without any defined lead.

It was a natural dance. That wasn't to say it was an easy dance.

They both must have had some of the same feeling going on; the closer they got towards home, the more pensive the silence. Ray had no idea how to continue this; no idea how to slot this new thing into their lives in Chicago. It was one thing when you were looking to start a relationship with someone and you took 'em out, and you dated, and then maybe you had something more solid. But they'd started off as something else -- strangers, then partners, then friends, now this -- and the shift sideways into another kind of relationship took some reconciliation.

Ray drew out that drive longer than he probably should have. Just to hang onto things a little longer. Give his mind some kinda time to catch up, to make sense of things. Stopped for lunch, stopped in little touristy places on the lake shore to grab souvenirs -- no cheese hats, much as he had the temptation -- stopped to switch seats and let Ren do the driving for awhile.

"It'll be okay," he'd said, somewhere about ten minutes from the city limits. Not quite out of the blue.

"Yes, Ray," came the quiet response. Silence hung with Ren ticking at the steering wheel with his thumb. It wasn't the manic kind this time, at least. "It feels as though the city itself should look different."

Ray laughed quietly. "Feel like you set off a shockwave, Ren?"

"Perhaps." Ren huffed his own laugh.

"Yeah. Yeah, me too." Ray shook his head.

"As my luck goes, such a shockwave would break windows and mirrors for several states over."

"Fire hydrants busted open, car alarms going off, dogs howling, door to door glacier salesmen find all their stock melted..." Ray tapped the passenger side window with a knuckle. "Looks good to me."

"Ah, but we were at the epicenter of the blast."

"Yeah, well. You'll just have to tape a note to everyone's house from here to Wisconsin. At least you don't have to ask for a baseball back."

"Nor do I have to pay for all those ruined glaciers. Small mercies."

City limits passed. No broken windows. All was as it should be, at least as much as anything was as it should be in Chicago. It shouldn't have been weird. Ren was right, though. Some surreal part of him felt like even the city should've taken some kinda notice of what happened.

"'Just see what happens.'" Ren was quoting his friend again, half-sighed in that odd accent.

"Long as nobody's lightin' the can on fire, pal." Ray looked out the window, shaking his head and grinning. That was a good image. Sometime he'd have to ask about that.

"I've never been very certain how that happened. The police reports varied wildly. I'm reasonably confident it's impossible for us to duplicate the circumstances, anyway."

"I dunno, Ren. Frannie can get pretty crazy. Give her some matches and a reason, an exploding toilet might be the least of our problems..."

They shared a brief horrified glance.

Uh. Yeah. Best to lay that one aside for the moment. She already spent a whole lot of time thinking she was in competition with Ray for Renfield's time and attention, and frankly, that made going home even harder, which made Ray just spend _more_ time with Ren anyway.

The thought made him smirk briefly. Maybe he shoulda sent her a 'thank you' note.

Ray sat back for a moment deeper into the seat and pulled out the beach grass weave Ren had made and given him last weekend. He'd carried it in his pocket since then, something like a good luck charm; it hadn't even finished drying all the way, though it was most of the way there. After a moment, careful not to disrupt Ren's driving, he reached up and tied it to the rearview mirror.

It was something, anyway.

 

 

Renfield didn't remember the stairs to his apartment being so short a journey.

He worried for Ray's bruises, but they made the trek all the same. He found a certain loathing for his own front door. It represented a divide he didn't want to make yet. He thought about asking Ray in. Thought about it, but couldn't remember how.

He stood in front of his door, hands clasped at his front, a thumb held between two fingers.

"...Thank you... for a, ah... hm."

Ray bobbed his head to the side, smiling. "For the weirdest road trip of your life? For not ambushing you with a cheese hat? For that new pet elephant following us around?"

Tugging that thumb, Renfield chewed down a laugh. "All of the above, Ray."

"You're welcome. I guess." Ray rubbed the back of his neck, clearly at something of a loss. "Guess I'll pick you up tomorrow? I mean... well, yeah. 'Course I will."

"Yes, Ray." It was completely odd on several levels to not exactly know how to say goodnight to a man one kissed and shared a bed with. "I would very much like that."

"Me too. I mean, since we're..." He could all but see Ray running through a mental list of definitions to try to describe them, but eventually, Ray settled on, "...we're a _thing_ , now. Not that we weren't a thing, but now we're a _thing_ and... yeah." Ray gestured back down the hallway, somewhat jittery. "I should probably go. Don't think this building's rated for elephants or anything."

 _I will miss you._ "Yes, Ray," he repeated. He picked up a hand, fingers curled back to it; flexed open slowly. It was a tentative sort of shoulder-pat he gave Ray, though he lingered on a thumbstroke. "Ah. Goodnight."

Ray huffed a breath, covering Renfield's hand with his own for a moment. "...yeah. Goodnight, Ren."

A beat. "Sleep well."

"Uh. You too."

Neither of them seemed to know how to move.

Someone a floor down slammed a door, and the muffled sound made him jump. Shaking his head and laughing, Renfield slid his hand out from under Ray's to dig out his keys. Ray still wasn't leaving. He just stood, fidgeting somewhat, looking like he was one step from running out or one step from asking to stay.

Renfield cleared his throat, going to gesture...

...and then Ray was kissing him.

There was a hand on the side of his neck and one on his shoulder and Ray was kissing him; soft and deep, pressed in close with his body. Breathing this time, though shakily.

 _Oh._

His keys dangled halfway out of his pocket before hitting the floor. There was no thought in the slide of his hands around Ray, and none in the slow return of the kiss. He drew them both back a step, if only so he could lean against his own front door. Pressing back in. Pulling.

Ray was warm. Ray tasted of Ray. Ray was _kissing him_.

It lingered. Not long enough, but it lingered.

It tapered to gentle contact, the faint brush of lips. Shared breaths against each other.

Renfield blinked dazedly at Ray, grinning.

Ray was grinning back, eyes still closed, not giving any quarter for the moment. Just breathing and holding on, before he finally opened his eyes and looked up a little. "Yeah." Ray could lend that word so many meanings.

Renfield nodded faintly, echoing, "Yeah."

That made Ray smile even brighter; surprise, amusement, affection. And then, finally, reluctance written in every line, he stepped back. "'Night, Ren."

It took Renfield a good two minutes and long after Ray was out of sight around the hallway corner before he could remember to pick up his keys and unlock his door. He entered his apartment with uncoordinated motion, and then he leaned back against the door again just to laugh.

They would still be here tomorrow.


End file.
